


Gone

by castielrisingabove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Canon Divergent, Cas appreciation, Destiel - Freeform, Family, Fluff, Gen, Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More tags might be added later - Freeform, No Smut, Plot Twists, Slow Burn, Spoilers, The Darkness is Not A Woman, like reeeeeaaally slow burn, starts at 10.23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-28 12:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 67,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6329023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielrisingabove/pseuds/castielrisingabove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the events of 10.23. The Mark has been removed and the consequences of this are currently unknown. All the Winchesters know for sure? Castiel isn't answering his phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enter Darkness

The Mark of Cain is the best sort of drug to be on. Dean can't help but feel an overwhelming rush of relief any time it takes over. He feels stronger, healthier and the constant buzz of worry and fear that typically fills his head is silenced. 

Better yet, Dean is once again able to be "The Righteous Man." Because when the Mark takes over, Dean can do no wrong. The things he does, the people he kills, it's all for the greater good and there's something so  _ damn _ satisfying about finally being able to be utterly, completely in the right. So much has grown murky lately. Dean always thought he was in the right...or at least he did until the angels showed up.

Of course, the only downside of the Mark is when its influence fades. Without the dark clouds obscuring the rest of his judgement, Dean's left alone to try and wrap his mind around all the sins he's committed while he let the Mark take over.

_ Claire’s attackers. _

_ The Stynes. _

_ Cas. _

This last one haunts Dean the most; his throat burning with bile and whiskey at the thought. How many times had he sent Cas flying? How many blows had he landed? Dean lost track. He'd slammed the angel blade mere inches from the angel's head. Told him to stay away, probably forever. Though Dean can't really blame him if Cas had come to that conclusion independent of Dean's threats.

He’d felt vindicated at the time. That’s one of the worst parts, Dean had felt like  _ he _ was in the right, punishing a dirty, sinful angel who was going to do more wrong. Cas, who had never lifted a finger against him. Cas, who had begged him as his closest friend to see reason. Cas, who, despite his many mistakes had  _ always _ come back to the Winchesters and Dean had nearly murdered him in cold blood.

And if he sees glimpses of Cas’ broken face in reflections? Well, Dean probably deserves it. He drinks up the agony like just another bottle of alcohol, he  _ deserves _ this sort of punishment. Besides...this might just be the only time he’ll see the angel anymore.

The incident is over now, Dean having fled to a motel several hours away. Like that would really fix what had happened. Alcohol has little effect, though Dean attempts to drink himself into oblivion. He tries to ignore the guilt, but when he looks up in the mirror to see Cas' battered face staring back at him, it all comes rushing back. A silent accusation: you did this to me. 

Dean lets the Mark take over that night, destroying the motel room. There's something satisfying in smashing the limited amenities to pieces, a sort of self-inflicted punishment. If Cas isn't comfortable, then Dean damn well won't be either.

But the relief of the Mark is gone all too quickly. It always is. Even as Dean chases a new hunt-- _ I'm The Righteous Man, I'm the Righteous Man-- _ the guilt always returns. How's he supposed to face Castiel again? How is he supposed to face Sam? Dean wonders dully if Cas has admitted to Sam what has happened, or if Cas used some of his limited grace to heal himself. Erase the incident. 

To protect Dean.

Stupid ass angel. Castiel has always been too eager to throw himself into the fire to save Dean. Hell, that’s how they  _ met _ , Cas plunging into the tortuous depths to pull Dean out. Dean probably tried to hurt Cas then too, he can’t remember for sure, but it would come as no surprise if he’d lunged at the angel with one of his many tools. Not that it matters now. Dean hopes, practically prays, that this time will be enough to scare Cas off. No more dying for Dean.

Dean can't say for sure when the idea hits him. It's not that he hasn't thought about death before. If he could have killed himself, he would have by now, especially after Cas. No, what's surprising is that he hasn't thought of  _ Death _ before. Death was the most powerful being they knew. If anyone could stop the Mark, it would be him.

Because deep down, a small part of him tucked away from the Mark of Cain's influence, Dean knows he is  _ not _ the Righteous Man. 

He considers having a last meal. It's something Dean's discussed with Sammy before, probably on one of their many long drives to a daunting hunt. Sam's choice has always been very specific, and typically expensive. As a kid it was Chucky Cheese’s. Later, it was a nice steak place. For a short time it had been a prissy bar in Seattle. 

Currently it's some high end sushi place in Santa Barbara, California. Sam had always been smart, milking the last meal for all it was worth. And of  _  course _ he’d do something like sushi. Pretentious ass. (That was the kind of insult Dean jokingly threw at Sam during these discussions, but he never meant it. Secretly he’d be more than happy to go to some fancy-ass joint if it meant watching his brother’s face light up one last time.)

Dean's preferred last meal, on the other hand, has never changed. A bacon burger, fries and a nice cold beer. (Even as a kid. Dean had sworn if he was gonna go down swinging, he might as well know what all the fuss was about when it came to alcohol.) Deep down, though, it wouldn't have been the burger that made the last meal, but the company. Dean's always imagined his last meal going down in a crowded diner booth, Sam on bench opposite him and, more recently, Cas squished onto the same seat as Dean. Sam laughing at some joke he’d made, Cas tentatively smiling up at Dean as well...

There's not going to be company for this last meal, though, and besides, Dean doubts he deserves a burger.

Hell, he doesn’t even deserve Baby. This is a last minute addition to his already painful plan, the best sort of goodbye he can cobble together for Sam. Dean can’t help but think wryly of the  _ last _ note he left his brother. At least this one came with the car. Somehow, though, Dean doubts this will sate Sam much.

It takes him some time to gather the necessary supplies, and then Dean’s on his way, behind the wheel of an unfamiliar vehicle. He almost swerves off the road when he glimpses Cas’ bloody face in the rearview mirror, but it doesn’t seem to be real. Merely a figment of his guilt. Dean grits his teeth, trying to will the power of the Mark back in. He’s only got to make it a few more hours and then this will all be over…

This prediction turns out to be correct, just not in the way Dean had planned. Though, really, who plans on killing Death?

It’s a lot to take in, the whole scene of it. Dean, with Death’s scythe plunged firmly in the chest of Death himself. Sam, beaten but not broken, inexplicably saved as his reminders of family tugged Dean out of the dark haze of the Mark and back to reality. But before Dean can wrap his head around it, he’s hit by a surge of lightning. An actual surge of lightning, from the feel of it, his arm stinging so badly it felt like every individual nerve was burning.

Dean can feel the Mark leave him. Every dark, swirling thought sucked out in an instant and the guilt,  _ oh God the guilt _ , dipping into him so badly he felt like collapsing. He probably would have, too, but the noise outside pushes him to keep going. To push through the pain, to face whatever hellish consequences are coming from the removal of the curse.

What he sees is terrifying, a cloud of Darkness rushing towards them. Dean can’t help but think for a moment  _ that was inside of me? _ The reverie is quick, though, as he and Sam race to the car. But in a moment of bad luck (or bad karma, Dean thinks helplessly), Baby gets stuck. Really stuck. 

Dean grips his brother’s jacket, fervently wishing he had time to say all the apologies he should have. Sam grips Dean’s shoulder back. A silent  _ I love you _ .They brace themselves for the worst, looking from each other to the impending doom, then back again. The storm cloud rushes at them...then it all goes dark.

The next thing Dean knows, he’s waking, arm still splayed protectively over Sam. He rubs his eyes, blinking in the warm sunlight as he peers out the window. Was it all a dream? Slowly, Dean removes his hand from Sam’s chest, peeling back his jacket sleeve to reveal...a bare arm. The Mark. It’s really gone.

“What happened?” Sam’s voice is groggy as he lifts his head, “We dead?”

Dean shrugs. “Doubt it. This ain’t hell, and it sure as hell ain’t Heaven.”

Tentatively, they both swing open the doors. The temperature is moderate, close to the same as it was the day before. The air smells fine. Dean tests the ground with his foot. Still soggy from the puddle they drove into, but nowhere near weird. In fact, aside from the sign of the restaurant, which had toppled over, everything looks the same as when he’d arrived.

Still, Dean can’t shake the feeling that something is  _ wrong _ . It’s a nudge in his gut, like the thought of a memory you can’t quite remember. Something is very, fundamentally wrong and he can’t put his finger on it, but Dean’s got an impression it is somehow connected to the removal of the Mark of Cain.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is raising slightly. Dean makes his way over to his brother, looking for any sign of trouble, but Sam merely has his phone out. He shoves it in Dean’s face. Dean blinks, trying to understand what Sam was saying. The phone looks pretty ordinary, albeit devoid of messages, but that’s normal. It’s not like they’ve got many friends.   


“So your email isn’t blowing up, big whoop.”

Sam shakes his head. “The date, Dean.” Dean squints, looking closer. “According to this, we’ve been knocked out for  _ three days _ .”

Three days? That can’t be right. Dean finds himself absentmindedly rubbing his arm, fingers unconsciously searching for the raised form of the Mark. Old habits die hard, apparently. What on Earth was going on? “We’ve been knocked out for three days? Why?”

Sam shrugs. “Maybe part of removing the Mark?”

Dean scowls. “Why do I feel like being knocked out for three days is the better part of the deal when it comes to this?”

He begins to make a broader sweep of the area, eyes roving the ground and sky for any sign of disturbance. Any indication that something might not be right. The closest he comes is another glance at Death’s ashes in a pile in the restaurant. Dean’s stomach curls. That’s going to be something that has repercussions as well, it has to be, but they’ve got more pressing issues at hand.

After an hour of scouring the area, Sam finally speaks up. “I don’t think there’s anything here, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t stop, though. Better safe than sorry. 

They look for another hour, until it seems like Sam is gonna pass out from lack of food. Dean’s not much better off, but at least he can tell himself he deserves this. For everything he did under the influence of the Mark, he at least deserves to go hungry. Still, it looks like Sam’s right. Nothing seems remotely out of place. So with a bit of grunt work (and a lot of loud Def Leppard blasting from the radio) they were able to get the car free and back on the road. 

Dean ignores the gut sense that something more than the blacking out is wrong. Something bigger.

While Dean begins to drive, Sam leans into the back of the Impala, rummaging around until he’s returning with a couple water bottles. That’s Sam, prepared as always. Dean snatches one out of Sam’s hand, guzzling it down so fast it dribbles down his chin. He doesn’t care, practically swerving off the road to down another.

It’s apparent now that, while they seem to have been at least somewhat suspended in some sort of supernatural state, it hasn’t entirely protected them from the effects of starvation and dehydration. The next thing Sam hands Dean is two granola bars. He unwraps one and bites down, realizing only then just how ravenous he was. The two bars are gone within 15 minutes. Sam’s are gone just as quickly. 

“We’ll stop at the next town over to eat,” Dean says.

Neither of them speak much, mostly grunts and nods. It’s easier this way. After all, Dean had almost killed Sam. How do you apologize for that? Dean tries, of course, in small ways. Like stopping at a place that serves primarily health foods, instead of the greasy diner fare Dean thrives on. 

The restaurant is a cheerful green and yellow, but the staff are strangely skittish. Dean frowns, glancing down at his shirt to ensure there are no blood stains. He’s clean. He might have said it was Sam, who did garner an especially strange look from the busboy at his bruised face, but the whole atmosphere seems tense.

“Who died in here?” Dean tries to joke as the waiter, Dave, according to his name tag, comes to take their order. Dave looks young, he’s gangly, and his dark hair is cropped short. He looks a bit like a younger version of Sam, if Sam knew what a razor looked like. 

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told the truth,” the Dave shrugs.

Sam shoots Dean a warning look from across the table, but that doesn’t deter him. “Try me.”

“Nobody knows how it could have happened,” Dave says conspiratorially, glancing around to ensure no one was listening in, “But it did. I swear. One second I was waiting tables, the next I was on the ground. A whole day had passed and I didn’t even realize it. And as far as I can tell? It happened to the whole town.”

“You were all passed out? For a whole day?”

The waiter shrugs. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“We believe you,” Dean leans forwards slightly, “We’ve been knocked out for three.”

“ _ Three? _ ” 

Dave looks like he’s trying to figure out whether or not Dean is kidding him, his eyes widening when he sees just how serious Dean’s expression is.

“And you don’t know how?”

“Not a clue,” Dean lies smoothly, though it’s not entirely a lie. They have a  _ guess _ it’s connected to the Darkness, but no way of knowing for sure.

And strangely, that’s the end of the conversation, Dave apparently not wanting to go much more into detail. It makes some sense, of course, Dean’s seen plenty of people before who just want to pretend their brush with the supernatural never happened, so he obliges the silence. He and Sam order and the waiter leaves, returning later with their meals.

“The effects seem to be spread out from the center,” Sam hypothesizes in between bites of the leafy green monstrosity he’s ordered himself, “We seem to have gotten the worst of it.” 

Dean pokes at his grilled chicken, the closest thing he can get that isn’t rabbit food, without much appetite. The removal of the Mark has left him with more than enough to think about, but he’s also trying to figure out the consequences of killing Death and freeing the Mark from a human host. He’s about to reply to Sam when he catches a familiar flash of Castiel in the window. Castiel, bloodied and broken. Blue eyes not accusatory...merely sad.

Dean drops his fork, which lands on the floor with a clatter. 

“Earth to Dean?” Sam’s waving a hand in front of Dean’s face, his forehead curled in a familiar expression of worry, “You doing okay?” Dean forces himself to look away from Cas ( _ not actually Cas,  _ he tries to remind himself) and meet Sam’s eyes.

“How’s Cas?” Dean’s voice comes out gravely and tired. He’s barely spoken since they woke up and Sam hasn’t pushed him.

Sam looks taken aback, finishing a bite of salad before answering. “Cas? Fine, probably. He’s an angel, after all.”

It’s true. But Sam hadn’t seen how broken Castiel looked on the floor of the Bunker. Dean had barely caught a glimpse and it’s still haunting him. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t have the Mark of Cain to make those bad feelings disappear. Dean uses ducking under the table to retrieve the fork as an excuse to hide his face. “You, uh, know where he is? What happened to him?”

Sam shrugs. “He’s probably fine, Dean. He was helping Rowena with the--”

“--he  _ what? _ ” Dean’s voice raises, his grip around the fork handle tightens. He hits his head on the table on his way up, their dishes rattling with a  _ thump  _ before he makes his way the rest of the way up. Dean glares at Sam, fork pointed at his brother.

“He’s an angel, Dean. He can take care of himself.”

“So, you just left him with Rowena?”

“Cas volunteered, Dean.”

“And you let him. You’re both…”

Dean looks away, deciding against answering and proving this point by  jamming the contaminated fork into his chicken and using the dull knife the restaurant had provided to try and cut away a sizable piece. Once a slice is free of the rest of the meat, he crams the bite into his mouth.

“Dean, the fork.”

“Does it look like I care?” Dean’s mouth is still half full. Tentatively, Sam goes back to eating and they continue their meal in silence, Dean fuming all the while. He’s not sure what he’s more upset about, Castiel going behind his back with a spell like that, or the fact that damn angel was risking his own skin to save the guy who’d just threatened to murder him.

What’s worse, Dean’s acutely aware of the fact his phone (which he had checked only once they’d reached sanctuary in the restaurant) does not display a single message from Cas. And even though Dean knows Cas has a good reason--the best reason, really--for never speaking to Dean again, he can’t help but worry about the angel. 

Rather than deal with the inevitable, however, Dean decides to finish his meal. It’s not until after the check has come and gone (the baby-faced waiter rather disappointed he wasn’t able to sell Dean on any of their ‘gluten free cookies’) that Dean finally faces Sam.

“Has he gotten ahold of you?”

The edge is gone from Dean’s voice, replaced with a hint of worry. Sam’s face softens the moment he realizes this isn’t going to be an attack.

“No,” Sam admits softly, “But...you gotta admit, that’s pretty par for course. Cas isn’t always the best at keeping in touch.”

Dean stares at his empty plate, still smeared slightly with whatever sauce they’d coated the chicken with, trying to hide his disappointment at the answer. Before long, Sam’s gently tugging him up. “C’mon, Dean, I’m sure he’s fine. Probably back at the Bunker waiting for us.”

The strange worry in Dean’s gut is back, the feeling that something isn’t right with the universe.

“But…”

“He didn’t call because he likely forgot,” Sam replies smoothly, leading Dean to the car and tossing him the keys, which Dean catches almost robotically. “So let’s get our ass in gear and go find him.”

Dean winces at that (is he even worthy to find Castiel anymore?) but Sam pretends not to notice. “Just call him, okay?” Dean says as he shoves the key into the ignition and revvs the engine of the Impala, “It’s only a six hour drive from here to Lebanon, we can make it in a night.”

“Not tonight we won’t,” Sam replies, “I don’t know what the Mark did to both of us, but it’s probably safer that we  _ don’t _ try driving through the night.”

“Sam--”

“No arguments,” Sam’s voice has an edge to it, “I’m not losing my brother three days after I get him back.”

Dean squeezes the wheel of the Impala as yet another pang of guilt jolts through him. He can’t even imagine how hard this has been for his brother. As angry as he is that Sam all but flippantly put everything, the world included, on the line to save Dean...Dean can’t say for sure he wouldn’t do the same exact thing if Sam had been in his position. “Fine,” Dean grumbles, “But you’re calling Cas.”

“Already dialing his number,” Sam’s got the phone to his ear as Dean peels out of the parking lot. 

It’s been a long time since Dean’s been this distracted on the road, but he can’t help himself from glancing over at Sam. His brother’s face slides from calm to confused to worried, eventually pulling the phone away from his ear.

“No answer.”

“Try again.”

Sam manages three more failed phone calls by the time they’ve reached the motel. “Hey, Cas,” Sam says on the third call, “I just wanted to call and say Dean’s alright. We got him back. Uh, I don’t know what exactly happened after, but I hope you’re okay on your end. Call us back as soon as you can.”

As he hangs up, Sam glances over to Dean, who swings the door of the Impala open and leaves without a word. Sam’s all but jogging to catch up as Dean rushes towards the main entrance.

“He could just be busy,” Sam says hesitantly as they leave the car and make their way to the front desk. The theme here is “Wild West” and the peeling cowboy wallpaper certainly makes for a garish distraction as they wait to be helped, as nobody appears to be at the front desk.

Dean notices a small bell on the counter and rings it loudly. “Or he’s in trouble.” He rings the bell again.

“Cas is smart,” Sam says hesitantly, “And he’s an angel. If anyone can take care of themselves--” he’s cut off as Dean rings the bell a third time.

“He should at least answer you,” Dean mutters cryptically. A shadow crosses his face and he rings the bell three more times in rapid succession before Sam grabs him by the arm to force him to stop.

The Winchesters are locked in the most awkward of struggles when they’re met by a cranky woman who must be in her sixties. Her hair is pulled into tight, almost painful looking curls and her face is pinched with a look that says she’s put up with more than her fair share of bullshit over the years. She’d look comical, especially given the tiny cowboy hat that sits perched upon her head, except for the fact her glare alone shot daggers into the Winchesters.

“What do you need?” She snaps.

“I’m sorry about my brother,” Sam steps in, voice all soft and apologetic. It’s his diplomatic voice, the kind that Dean both loathes and respects. He glances down at her name tag, which reads  _ Edna _ . “We didn’t mean to disturb you, Edna. We’re just looking for a room for the night.”

Unfortunately, Edna did not seem to take kindly to being summoned to the desk with no fewer than 6 rings of the bell, meaning the Winchesters ended up with the worst room in the motel. They’re several feet from a railroad track and everything in the room looks like it’s been forcefully rattled to the ground on more than one occasion. It’s a surprise, really, that anything is standing.

“Smells worse than usual,” Sam comments dryly, trying desperately to make things seem at least remotely normal, but Dean’s face is strained.

“He hasn’t called you back,” Dean says, “Something has to be wrong.”

“Then call him yourself,” Sam snaps, finally tired. He tests the mattresses to make sure the beds were devoid of bed-bugs, all while Dean paces the floor.   


“Can’t.”

There’s something in Dean’s voice that gives Sam pause. Dean’s never avoided calling Cas before. Not like this. Not when he’s so clearly worried about him. Sam sighs, checking Dean’s bed too. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Sam says, “You should get some rest.”

But Dean knows for a fact he can’t sleep. The fog of the Mark is gone, replaced by tense and unyielding guilt, most prominently over Castiel. He doesn’t want to think about the fact the angel might not ever want to see him again, so naturally that’s the only thing Dean can imagine. It takes all he’s got not to continue pacing the floor when Sam pointedly slips into bed.

He knows he won’t sleep tonight, but Dean reluctantly slides into bed too. Still, he can’t help but notice Sam’s knowing look illuminated by the light of Dean’s cell phone as he checks it  _ one last time _ . Just in case.

By the time morning comes, Dean’s phone is dead. He’s checked it that many times, thumb hovering over the call button but always chickening out at the last second. Granted, it’s not really morning by most people’s standards. It’s 5 AM, the sun hasn’t even started to rise.

“You should really get some more sleep,” Dean says as Sam pushes out of bed.

Sam sighs. “I don’t think I can. I’ve been up and down all night.”

It’s then that Dean notices the same hints of worry lining Sam’s face. He stands, making his way to his brother’s bed to sit next to Sam. “He’ll be fine,” Dean says, trying to believe it himself, “The little guy always is, right? Cas is probably just holed up in the library right now, reading some dusty ass book about the migration of bees or something.”

Sam snorts and Dean can make out the vague glimpse of a smile. “Y’know,” Sam says, “We’ve never gotten around to making him a room in the Bunker.”

Another pang of guilt surges through Dean. How could they have forgotten to do that? After everything. “That’ll be the first project we take, then,” Dean says, pushing to standing, “In between researching the...what did Death call it?”

“The Darkness?”

Dean nods. “We’ll research the Darkness  _ and _ make sure Cas has the most kick-ass room in the Bunker. It’ll be great.” And for the first time in a long time, the Bunker might actually truly be home. 

“We’ll all be home at the Bunker…” Sam seems to echo Dean’s thoughts.

They hadn’t actually brought any overnight gear, so they’re ready to leave in under fifteen minutes. It’s almost a record, how quickly they were on the road. The drive itself should take six and a half hours, but Dean manages it just over 5, muttering the occasional “please be there” under his breath and hoping Sam doesn’t notice.

Sam simply busies himself with calling Castiel every hour, on the hour. With every passing missed call, Sam shares a worried look with Dean before looking out the window. Dean’s whispers grow more and more frantic, but Sam doesn’t know what to say.

When they reach the Bunker, the Winchesters are out of the car in seconds, a curt “Split up,” from Dean being the only words spoken between them for the extent of the drive. Dean hits the kitchen first, then the Northern bedroom hallways. 

He’s stopped whispering, mostly because the only thing running through his mind is Cas’ name on repeat, sounding with the beat of his heart.

_ Cas. _

_ Cas. _

_ Cas. _

_ Cas. _

The mantra speeds up as Dean recognizes the next room. The library. He hasn’t been here since everything went down. His stomach drops as he opens the door. The first thing he notices is that the books are neatly stacked. Dean curses inwardly, berating himself for possibly assuming something else was more important than Cas. The other bodies are gone too, Dean notes numbly, and the blood, all the blood on the floor...completely wiped away.

_ Erased. Like it didn’t even happen.  _ Dean thinks weakly,  _ Even after everything I put him through, he’s still protecting me.  _ Dean lingers there a moment longer before moving on, heart rate increasing with each empty room until it’s banging against his rib cage like a drum.

_ Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas. _

He’s searching the war-room, practically looking under tables and behind curtains at this point, when he hears Sam’s footsteps. The air catches in his throat when Sam enters the room, face now creased with fear. 

“Dean…” Sam’s voice is begging and Dean knows immediately his brother has had equally bad luck. Dean braces himself against the firm oak table to hear the words he’s been praying he doesn’t have to. “I don’t think Cas is in the Bunker.”

“No.” Dean’s voice is husky, he can feel his legs starting to wobble beneath him. 

“I’m sure he’s fine…” Sam’s eyes flick to his hands, he can’t quite believe what he’s trying to say, “Cas is a busy angel, he’s probably…”

But he can’t seem to finish his sentence. Dean can’t quite explain it, but this absence feels different. Final. And he knows if this is the case, if Cas is in even the tiniest amount of trouble...that’s all his fault. Any semblance of strength is crumbling as the hysteria rises in him.

_ Cas.Cas.Cas.Cas.Cas. _

Carefully, Dean lowers himself into a chair. He doesn’t trust himself to stay upright for much longer. Dean isn’t sure why he’s reacting this violently to everything. It’s been a while with the Mark and Dean’s grown accustomed to not wondering about Castiel’s whereabouts as the angel came and went.

Only now, with the return of clear thinking and the sickening recollection of his past treatment of the angel is Dean starting to panic. Well, that and an unexplainable feeling in his gut. He can’t articulate it. Hell, he doesn’t really want to. Because if he’s  _ right _ , if what he’s feeling is the real deal...things have gotten a hell of a lot more complicated than simply issuing an apology to a hurt (and justified) angel. 

Dean looks up to see Sam peering down at him. His brother’s eyes are full of worry and fear; Dean can’t help but wonder if Sam’s got the same sixth sense humming in his bones. After all, Sam was always the more sensitive one, even as a kid, he’s got to have the feeling that Cas--Dean bites his tongue at the thought, trying to compose himself.

“Sam,” Dean croaks, trying to keep himself from breaking down entirely as his heart pounds a harsh staccato against his chest. The world feels like it’s spinning and it’s all Dean can do to get the words out.

_ CAS.CAS.CAS.CAS.CAS. _

“I think Cas is gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : Okay. This is my first big fic. As in, I'm actively plotting it out and I'm setting a word count goal for myself. Ideally each chapter will be 5,000 words minimum and I'll plan for a weekly chapter release, both of which are really big for me.
> 
> As such, feedback and comments would really be helpful. Up until this point, I've just kinda played around on here with shorter drabbles. The lengthy fics I've read are all SOOOO well written and it's a really daunting thing to try and follow.
> 
> Buckle up. We're in this together.


	2. The Facts Were These

“I think Cas is gone.”

Sam’s been trying to cling to hope. That’s his job, _he’s_ the one who sees the silver lining. No matter the odds. And he’s been trying to see the good in this situation since yesterday, rattling off a list of logical facts to himself: 

_Fact 1: Castiel doesn’t always bother with technology._

_Fact 2: Castiel is highly skilled and can handle himself around danger, Rowena and Crowley won’t be a problem._

_Fact 3: Castiel is very smart. It’s possible he started investigating the Darkness already._

_Fact 4: Something happened between Cas and Dean._

The fourth fact had only been a vague theory, but as time’s gone on, Sam’s more and more convinced something has happened between them. He’d first noticed when Cas had made a strange face when Sam had passionately declared they were going to see Dean again. What was it Cas had said to him in response?

_“I am sure you will see your brother again.”_

You. Not we.

Sam hadn’t thought much of this at the time, just like he hadn’t thought much of Castiel’s insistence that he would be the one helping complete the spell with Rowena, rather than helping to track down Dean. Then again, Sam’s focus had been pretty singular at the time: the only thing that had mattered was getting Dean back. If he hadn’t been so obsessed, would he have picked up on these warning signs earlier? Could he have fixed something?

Now, with Castiel gone MIA, Sam’s seeing Dean displaying equally suspicious behavior. Like how he can’t seem to meet Sam’s eyes when talking about Cas. Or the fact Sam has yet to see Dean pick up his phone and call Cas himself, relying instead on Sam to dial his number and leave him messages.

Yes, Sam’s convinced something has happened between the two of them. And given how things are going now, it can’t have been good. Castiel _always_ comes when Dean called. Always. That’s just a fact of life. But Castiel isn’t coming and Dean isn’t calling. Something’s definitely happened. The only question is whether or not that’s the reason Castiel has vanished.

Sam keeps saying _vanished_ because he can’t bring himself to think there’s an even more final answer to Cas’ whereabouts. He looks over to Dean, who’s slumped face-down on the War Room table, looking worse than Sam’s seen him for a while. Dean’s always been the one to jump to worst case scenarios, though. So that might be it.

Carefully, Sam makes his way to his brother’s side, sitting in a chair next to him. He puts a firm hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s head whips up, a confused look on his face. Oh. Right. Cas used to touch Dean like that. ( _Not “used to”_ Sam feverishly corrects himself, _does. Cas touches Dean’s shoulder._ )

“We’ll find him,” Sam says softly, giving Dean’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze before slowly withdrawing.

“How?”

Sam sighs, mentally reciting his list again.

_Fact 1: Castiel doesn’t always bother with technology._

This is true, but only to a certain extent. A past Castiel, perhaps, might not have trifled himself with such things, but lately Cas had been getting more and more tech savvy. Even when he was away from the Bunker for lengthy periods of time, he always managed to keep in touch, whether it was a phone call or a quick text. Hell, he’d discovered emojis a couple months ago and had started going to town, even going so far as referring to the Mark of Cain only with a poop emoji.

Not to mention, Cas had been worried about Dean. Probably just as much as Sam. There’s no way he would have gone three days of radio silence on their end without trying some way to get in contact with them. No, Cas might not always keep in touch, but Sam suspects this problem has to do with something else.

_Fact 2: Castiel is highly skilled and can handle himself around danger, Rowena and Crowley won’t be a problem._

“Rowena,” Sam replies firmly, “We’ll retrace Cas’ steps. The last place I remember seeing him was with Rowena.” Dean looks at him, eyes hopeless, but he nods, shakily pushing to standing. Sam finds himself thanking everything holy (Castiel, mostly, since he isn’t sure about God and he knows if the other angels had anything to do with it, Dean wouldn’t be able to stand at all) that Dean’s got the strength of mind for that.

It’s a four hour drive to the warehouse from the Bunker, but it takes them 45 minutes to just get out of the Bunker. They split up and Sam assumes Dean will be loading up on weapons while he grabs a duffel of ingredients for spells. They’re dealing with a witch, after all, better safe than sorry.

Sam’s at the Impala in 15 minutes, but no Dean. He takes his time loading the ingredients into the car. Five minutes pass. Still no Dean. _He’s probably trying to get a grip on the situation,_ Sam hypothesizes, plopping down on the hood of the car. Another five minutes pass. Nothing. Sam sighs, pushing himself back to standing as he makes his way back into the Bunker.

No sign of Dean in the war room. Or in the dungeon, which is weird, given they stockpile a lot down there. Sam’s on his way to Dean’s room when he spots Dean in the kitchen. Various weapons litter the floor. There’s even a thick, intimidating mace propped up against one of the kitchen chairs. Dean’s at the counter, butter knife in hand, staring at three different jars of jam he’s got lined up on the counter. Raspberry. Grape. Strawberry.

Nearby sits a container of peanut butter and a half-empty bag of white bread that Sam is pretty sure has gone stale by now. Half a dozen slices are smeared with peanut butter, and another half dozen sit empty and at the ready.

“I don’t know what kind of jelly he likes,” Dean says, not looking up.

Oh. Right. Castiel likes PB&J sandwiches. Sam wavers in the doorway, trying to figure out what he’s supposed to do.

“I thought he might be hungry,” Dean says, the blade of the blunt knife hovering over the jars like a divining rod, as though waiting for it to dip when it passes over Castiel’s preference, “Maybe the people casting the spell got knocked out longer and if they did, he’d wake up hungry and…”

And Dean would be there with his favorite food. A desperate, and pretty shitty, apology for whatever went down between them. Still, Sam can’t help but feel relieved that Dean hasn’t gravitated towards the other, darker theory about Castiel’s whereabouts. If nothing else, this buys Sam a little more time to prepare for caring for Dean.

“...but I can’t figure out which one he liked best. I’ve called him my friend for six years and I don’t even know _his favorite flavor of jam!_ ” Dean’s voice is pitching into hysteria now.

Sam wants to say that Cas doesn’t need to eat, he’s an angel after all, but that would remove the one thing that Dean is clinging to as a potential apology. It’s rare to see Dean this way, so intensely worried over the most minute of details. Then again, Dean’s had the Mark of Cain for months. It’s been a long time since Sam’s seen much of his brother at all, especially as the effects grew more and more addictive and the power of the Mark took greater hold.

Instead, Sam makes his way into the kitchen, rummaging through one of the pristine metal drawers to retrieve another butter knife. “You’re making six sandwiches, right?”

Dean nods intently.

“Then we’ll put each flavor on two of them and we’ll ask him which one he likes best when we give them to him.” Sam grabs the jar closest to him, strawberry, and  unscrews the cap, scooping a copious amount onto his knife. Dean reluctantly takes another jar and follows suit.

They work in silence for a while, Dean’s a lot more meticulous with his sandwiches, but before long they have them all wrapped and labeled. “Do you think he’ll be angry there are only two of his favorite?” Dean asks as they carry them, as well as the weapons he’d been sent to retrieve, to the Impala.

“He’ll be grateful to have food,” Sam replies diplomatically. Dean’s face falls and Sam realizes he wasn’t really referring to the sandwiches at all. “Cas will be plenty happy to see you. He’s been worried sick about you, Dean.”

This time, Dean actually flinches away. Sam wants to press for details, but Dean’s been acting strangely on edge lately and, on the off chance there ends up having to be some kind of showdown between them and Rowena, Sam wants Dean to have his wits about him.

The weapons are dumped unceremoniously into the trunk, only shifted around enough to ensure the door closes properly. The sandwiches, on the other hand, take some time, Dean deliberating about where the best place to put them would be. “They can’t get smashed on the drive, Sam. I’m pretty sure Cas doesn’t like them smashed.”

Sam tries to be understanding, but the longer the sandwiches remain a problem, the more unhappy he becomes, finally snatching the bag out of Dean’s hand. “They’ll sit on my lap,” he says finally, making his way into the front passenger seat without even waiting for Dean to reply. He’s on edge, unsure if Cas is even at the warehouse at all.

In fact, Sam’s gut says that’s _not_ where Cas is. And if that’s the case...they’ve got a much longer search on their hands. The sooner they can start into finding Cas, the much sooner things can begin to return to normal. Well, as normal as things ever were for the Winchesters.

Dean swings himself into the driver’s seat and slams the door behind him. It’s definitely a testament to how worried he is when Dean doesn’t even smile as his car roars to life. Dean almost always manages a grin for that.

Sam knows he used to complain about Dean’s choice of music, but right now, in the dead silence on the road, he can’t help but wish there was something to soften the mood. Tentatively, Sam turns the cassette player on, the Def Leppard’s _On Through the Dirty Night_ crackling to life. Dean turns it off.

“Driver picks the music, remember?” Dean growls.

Okay, something is really wrong. Dean’s never complained about Sam turning on music like that before.

“Dean,” might as well get this over with now, “You know he might not be there, right? In fact, given the fact it’s been almost five days, it’s pretty damn likely he’s not there.” Sam looks earnestly at Dean, searching for some sign of recognition, but Dean’s face is an impassive mask. He’s seen this before: the more stressful the situation, the more likely Dean is to shove his feelings away and put on his soldier face.

“I feel it too, you know,” Sam says finally, gaze slipping away from Dean to stare out the window. Highway 183 is pretty bare, especially compared to some of the other parts of the United States, but he searches for anything to grab his focus, “Something feels wrong, doesn’t it?”

He hears a sharp inhalation of breath and can practically feel Dean’s eyes on him. “But Dean...if we’re both feeling it, you’ve gotta know as well as I do that Cas isn’t gonna be in that warehouse.”

Silence. Then.

“We gotta try.”

“Dean…”

“This is _not_ gonna be my fault, okay? Not this time.” Dean’s jaw strains and he grips the steering wheel a little tighter.

Sam lets the topic drop. They make it to the town of Broken Bow in three hours, instead of the allotted four. Sam parks the car next to the warehouse, which Dean surveys with a scoff. “This is like the epitome of the place you meet for a shady deal.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Sam swings the door open, making his way to the trunk to select his weapons, sliding a long knife into his jacket, loading a handgun to slip into a holster near his leg and grabbing a rifle for good measure.

Dean’s quiet as he sidles up next to Sam to choose his own gear. Sam can’t help but notice two sandwiches peeking out of the side pocket of Dean’s jacket and finds himself sincerely praying that Dean will get to use those instead of the demon blade he’s tucking into another pocket.

Once Dean is set, they prep the handguns. Safety off. Finger on trigger. Carefully, Sam leads Dean around the building to a door, which hangs slightly ajar. Sam kicks it in and the Winchesters barrel into the warehouse to find…

“It’s empty,” Dean says dully, lowering his weapon. And it’s true, nobody seems to be inside. Sunlight streams through a dusty window to illuminate a table that appears to be covered in a variety of leftover ingredients. A strange red sigil is painted on the ground. Sam can’t tell if it’s paint or blood. Most interesting, though, is a large scorch mark on the floor nearby. It’s roughly four or five feet in diameter, with ashen streaks fanning out from the center like a sun.

“What happened?” Sam peers at the burn, searching for a clue.

“Maybe it’s a side-effect of removing the Mark?” Dean comes up behind Sam, though he still keeps his gun raised, “I mean, I did get hit with some pretty nasty lightning.” He pauses, brightening slightly, “Maybe it burned Rowena to a crisp!”

Sam sighs, “Somehow I doubt Rowena would have agreed to do the spell if it meant her getting incinerated.”

But she might set someone else up to take the fall. And what was it Sam had told Cas? _Nothing is more important than saving Dean_. Sam’s starting to get the feeling that if Cas doesn’t come back, it might not just be Dean’s fault. Who tells their friend that? Especially knowing Cas, who’d probably nail himself to a cross if it meant saving the Winchesters.

“It’s not enough ash to be a body anyway,” Dean says, and it’s clear he’s got the same train of thought as Sam, “I don’t think anyone got incinerated. There was probably just a nasty crack of lightning, that’s all.”

Sam isn’t sure if lightning will leave that sort of mark, but then again, he’s not about to ask. They make their way around the empty warehouse, searching for any other clues as to what happened, but in the end, they’ve only got more questions than before. There’s no way to tell what happened to Cas. If anything even did.

“Crowley,” Dean growls, “You said Cas was working with him, right?”

Sam looks up, watching Dean leave the warehouse and return with the duffle bag Sam had packed full of ingredients. He starts rummaging through, pulling out various bags. “That son of a bitch is gonna help us set this story straight.”

It’s actually pretty clever, Sam thinks. Not that he wouldn’t have reached that conclusion eventually, summoning one of the other two people there for the spell, but it’s impressive Dean’s able to think on his feet...especially given the situation. It’s been proven Dean doesn’t always think straight when the people he loves are in danger.

But so far...Dean’s doing great. A bit tense, perhaps, but that’s pretty much a given at this point. Sam helps paint a devil’s trap while Dean compiles the recipe for the spell, one he pretty much knows by heart after all the times they’ve had to use it. Sam can’t help but note the irony. It used to be they were just in the business to kill demons, not summon them.

Once the paint dries, the two of them gather debris from the warehouse to help disguise the trap. Sam lights a few candles, Dean begins to chant in Latin, pulling out the demon knife to make an incision in his palm. Sam can’t help but notice Dean cuts a bit deeper than he has to. The blood drips from Dean’s hand, pattering onto the ground. There’s a couple moments where Sam holds his breath, the drips of blood the only sound in the room.

Then there’s a flash of light and a puff of smoke. Thump.

The dust clears to reveal Crowley in a heap on the floor. His normally well tailored suit is dirty and disheveled and as he pushes to standing, Sam notes that he’s hurt. Something’s wrong with his side, possibly a broken rib, and his face is bruised and bloody.

“What the hell happened to you?” Dean’s always been blunt.

Crowley tries to laugh, but it’s cut off by a wince. “What do you think?” He rolls his eyes as the Winchesters exchange a look. “Mother dearest decided to get her freedom after that spell in the way of an...unpleasantly placed hex bag.”

“Where’s Cas?”

This time Crowley really does laugh, although it’s pretty pitiful. He doubles over, gripping his side in pain for a moment before composing himself. “You Winchesters. Always cut right to the chase, don’t you? No bringing a guy out to dinner before pulling him in bed.”

“I’m not here to _take you to dinner,”_ Dean says, taking a step closer. Sam can see the calm start to slowly drain out of him. “I’m here for Cas.”

“Does it _look_ like I have your pet angel with me? Can’t exactly fit him in my pocket.”

“Fine. Where is he?”

“Why not just ask him yourself?”

Dean’s eyes light up for a fraction of a second, as though he’s honestly expecting Castiel to walk out from behind Crowley. Disappointment comes crashing down a moment after. It’s worse, Sam knows, because for whatever reason, Dean _won’t_ talk to Cas. Not by phone and, from his guess, not by prayer either.

“We can’t get ahold of Cas,” Sam steps in, angling himself between Dean and Crowley, “Been trying for days.”

Crowley smirks. “You ever thought maybe that’s because he doesn’t _want_ to talk to you?”

“ _SHUT UP!”_  

Dean’s outburst catches both Sam and Crowley by surprise and Sam finds he has to grab Dean’s arm to keep him from lashing out towards Crowley. “We might _need_ him,” Sam hisses in Dean’s ear, “Pull yourself together!”

With a huff, Dean jerks his arm out of Sam’s grasp and stomps away from Crowley, who’s exploded into his half laugh/half cough thing, which echoes uncomfortably in the empty warehouse. Finally, Crowley pulls himself together. “Actually, I might have some information that you’ll find useful,” he says, a little breathlessly.

“What is it?”

“Ah,” Crowley wags a finger, “First off, what’s in it for me?”

Of course. This is the thing they always forget when dealing with demons. Somehow the whole promise to “not make deals with demons” is unfortunately uncomfortable when they need it most. Sam’s mouth presses into a thin frown as he weighs their options.

“What is it you want?” Dean’s gruff voice rings out.

“If you _must_ know…” Crowley sighs, “I need to crash at your place for a while.”

Sam’s brow furrows. He shares a look with Dean, who looks equally confused. “Even if we kept you in the dungeon, chained up?” Sam wants to make sure they aren’t going to end up royally screwed on this deal.

“Whatever you’ve gotta do,” Crowley shrugs, “ _Although_ , if I get locked down there, I’d damn well better be comfortable.”

“And in exchange you’ll find Cas?” Dean’s voice is perking up as he makes his way back to the edge of the Devil’s trap.

“I’ll start helping.”

Dean’s eyes darken and Sam has to step between them again. Just to be safe. Crowley isn’t looking so good and he doesn’t really want to see what Dean’s capable of. Nor does he particularly want to risk reawakening any potentially dormant violent urges. Just in case.

“You start helping, you get the bare minimum in the dungeon,” Sam replies diplomatically, “Anything you give after that will earn you other perks.”

“And if I don’t agree?” Crowley’s got his arms crossed, but he doesn’t try to move. Sam expects the effort might be too painful.

“We’ll find someone else. And you’ll be out in the open. Which seems to be going _real_ well for you.”

Crowley flicks his tongue across his split lip. Sam allows himself a small grin. He’s found Crowley’s weak spot. The demon, the _King of Hell_ no less, has got someone even more powerful on his tail...so badly that he very well might be agreeing to lock himself in the Winchester’s dungeon.

“Fine. You’ve got me, boys. It’s a deal. Now, could we take this somewhere safer?” Crowley’s eyes flick around the room, “Like, _now?”_

Dean gives Sam a nod, leaving the circle to rummage through the duffle bag of supplies once again. He returns with the demon handcuffs, making sure they’re on just slightly too tight when he attaches them to Crowley’s wrists.

There’s a brief quibble over whether or not Crowley belongs in the back seat or the trunk, but that’s answered by the sheer number of weapons they’d stockpiled in the trunk. Crowley actually chuckles when he sees it. “You boys sure live up to the meaning of _overkill_ ,” he says, which earns him a sharp glare from Sam.

With the trunk full, Crowley ends up in the back seat and the duffle bag, which is full of entirely too many powerful objects for Crowley to be allowed anywhere near, sits at Sam’s feet at the front.

They’re on the highway when Crowley says from the back. “What’s with the sandwiches? You boys planning a picnic?”

A shadow flits across Dean’s face. Sam had entirely forgotten about the impromptu meal Dean had made for Cas. There’s the sound of plastic crinkling in the back, then. “Grape jelly? Really? I suppose it will do.”

Dean’s had enough. “Stop eating the damn sandwiches!”

“Why? I’m your _guest_ , squirrel.”

“Those aren’t for you.”

Sam closes his eyes, trying to stave off the headache that’s been slowly creeping in through the day. It’s surreal, if he steps back and thinks about the fact he’s listening to his brother bickering with the King of Hell over none other than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

But, more pressingly, it’s simply...grating. They’ve got so much to worry about. He and Dean still don’t know anything about what happened after the Mark was removed, it’s becoming more and more clear that something has happened to Cas and whatever Crowley’s running from, it’s powerful enough to have the top demon in Hell scared.

Crowley eats two of the sandwiches before Dean gets him to stop, complaining loudly about the quality of both of them. “If you’re trying to win friends with these...you’ve definitely failed.”

“Good,” Dean snaps back, “I don’t want to be friends with you.”

“Those weren’t your sentiments a couple months ago.”

Right. Dean’s “summer of fun” with Crowley, when he was a demon. It’s enough to shut Dean up, though. In fact, Dean doesn’t speak for the remainder of the drive. Crowley throws out a few more snarky comments, but he too quiets after about an hour without a rise from Dean.

This isn’t the road trip Sam was hoping for. But at least there’s blessed silence. He watches the flat land whiz past, reviewing his list of facts again.

_Fact 1: Castiel doesn’t always bother with technology._

_Fact 2: Castiel is highly skilled and can handle himself around danger, Rowena and Crowley won’t be a problem._

_Fact 3: Castiel is very smart. It’s possible he started investigating the Darkness already._

_Fact 4: Something happened between Cas and Dean._

This time, however, Sam adds something else to his list.

 _Fact 5: Crowley knows something about where Cas is_.

And they’re going to find out what.

They make it to the Bunker in record time, in part because Crowley keeps occasionally muttering “faster, faster,” and likely because Dean doesn’t want to spend more time with Crowley than he absolutely has to.

By the time they’ve reached the Bunker, the sun has begun to set, which only makes Crowley all the more nervous. The Winchesters shuttle him off to the dungeon, one on either side. Crowley doesn’t make a single joke, no snarky comment about how he must be famous or how they’re going to have a threesome, nothing.

Only when Crowley’s been locked in the Dungeon, cuffs properly secured, does Sam speak up. “Okay, you’re safe now. Tell us what you know.”

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Fine. All I know is that your angel went poof as soon as Rowena cast the spell.”

Sam frowns. “He just disappears?”

“Well...not exactly.”

“What happened?” Dean’s voice is tense.

“I want a recliner.”

“Fine,” Sam snaps, “We’ll get one for you.”

“Good,” Crowley tries and fails to stretch, “I like the leather ones, if you’re wondering.” A quick glance at the look on Dean’s face makes Crowley rethink anymore jokes. “Look, there was a was a sound like a crack of thunder, then a flash of light and suddenly there was no Castiel. Only a big smokey mark where he was standing. Your angel’s getting a bit questionable when it comes to teleportation, if you ask me. Even _my_ dramatic exits aren’t that messy.” Crowley sounds personally affronted at the mess Castiel apparently left behind, as though _all_ supernatural creatures ought to have the same level of cleanliness when exiting a room.

Sam’s brow furrows. “That doesn’t sound like an angel transport spell.”

“Was there any high pitched whining?” Dean’s leaning forwards and Sam can’t help but note the tiniest hint of desperation in his voice.

“Sorry, I’m not accustomed to angel sex,” Crowley smirks.

“Shut it, douche face,” Dean snaps, “Did you hear anything like it? High pitched whistle?”

“No, squirrel,” Crowley replies, “Unless you count deep rolling thunder.”

“He didn’t teleport,” Dean looks at Sam. Never mind they both know Cas _can’t_ teleport, not with his wings the way they are. “Sammy, he didn’t teleport.”

Sam can see the exhaustion in Dean’s face starting to show. He’s been going now for almost two days straight, trying to deal with news that has only grown progressively worse. Crowley might know more, but Sam doubts that’s information the demon will part with easily. And they’re too tired to haggle. Dean especially. So Sam simply says, “We’re leaving.”

“Don’t you want to hear more information?”

Dean opens his mouth, but Sam beats him to the punch. “Later.”

He’s pulling Dean out of the room, Crowley’s shouts of “I’d better get that recliner chair soon!” ringing in their wake before the dungeon door slams shut. It’s all Sam can do to get Dean into the kitchen, where his brother immediately slumps into one of the chairs.

“He didn’t teleport,” Dean murmurs numbly.

“I know,” Sam replies sadly, opening the fridge. It’s pretty much empty, but a search of the freezer reveals a frozen pizza. It’s not much, but...Dean’s got to get something in his system. Sam too, neither of them have eaten all day. He preheats the oven, then wanders to the cupboards to retrieve two glasses, filling both with water. Sam hands one to Dean.

“Drink,” Sam orders, sitting across from him and taking a long gulp from his own cup for emphasis. Dean slowly follows suit.

“He didn’t teleport.”

“We’ll find him.”

They both take another drink.

“He didn’t teleport.”

“Cas is scrappy. He can take care of himself.”

They both take another drink.

On and on this goes, Dean numbly repeating the phrase over and over in between sips of water. The oven beeps and Sam pushes to standing, refilling their glasses of water after he starts to cook the frozen pizza.

Dean makes it through two cups of water. They don’t make any more progress on what happened to Cas. Sam’s starting to feel the exhaustion setting in. He hadn’t slept all that well, even though he knows it’s better than the little, if any, sleep that Dean had gotten the night before.

A timer buzzes when the pizza is ready and Sam’s a little worried he’s going to have to force Dean to eat. Thankfully, Dean grabs a slice of his own accord. He doesn’t eat with the pleasure or gusto he usually does, but at least he’s eating. Sam nibbles his own slice, grateful for the warm food.

It’s not until they’re both done eating that Dean speaks. It’s quiet, quite possibly not meant to even be heard, especially as he says it while Sam is washing their dishes, but Sam hears it nonetheless. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

This is a different _gone_ than they were dealing with before. Before they could at least hypothesize Castiel was missing because he was keeping his distance. It wasn’t really a likely hypothesis, even then, but it was a possibility nonetheless. But now...that can’t be the case anymore. Wherever Cas is, whatever happened to him, it happened against his will.

Sam doesn’t want to say any of this aloud, of course. Saying it aloud makes it feel real. Final. So instead he simply replies: “We’ll get him back. We always do.”

Dean looks at him, a worried expression on his face as he stands at last, making his way to the fridge to retrieve a beer. (Winchester fridges, apparently, might be low on actual foods, but seem to always stay safely stocked on alcohol.)

He cracks the cap off, running his thumb along the rim of the bottle before taking a long gulp. “Cas always comes back to us,” he mumbles, though there’s a sad look in his eyes. “Always.”

Sam nods, wiping his wet hands on his pants before grabbing a beer for himself. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

But they both know that’s not true. There’s plenty to worry about, especially when it comes to Cas. _Nothing is more important than saving my brother_. Sam wishes more than anything he could have amended that statement. Or the statements like it.

 _Cas…_ he prays silently, eyes closing as his fingers gripped the cold bottle, _If you’re hearing this...you’re important. You’ve always been important. And, uh, I know this is too little too late, but...you gotta come home so we can show you just how much you mean to us._

When Sam opens his eyes, Dean is gone and Cas, like always, is nowhere to be seen.

 _And, Cas? We’re gonna find you_ , Sam prays again, this time aloud, _I promise_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey! Reached my goal of 10k words for the week! Naturally, I am very excited. Thank you so much for all the comments and feedback, I love hearing from everybody. Hopefully I'll have a new chapter up sometime next week :)


	3. A Hunt Will Take Your Mind Off Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, there's some gore in this chapter.

As it turns out, without the Book of the Damned, it’s very difficult to research unexpected side effects of a spell designed to remove the Mark of Cain. Not that Dean hasn’t been trying. It’s been three days since they’ve brought Crowley into the Bunker and Dean has done little other than research.

Crowley hasn’t been any help since his initial words. So much so that Dean’s sent Sam away today to finally get that dick the recliner they promised him. Dean’s not entirely sure how much this chair will help, but if nothing else, it’ll get the demon to shut up about the damn thing every time the Winchesters walk into the room.

Dean comforts himself with the thought that if push came to shove, there are far more creative ways to get Crowley to talk. Not that he wants to try them. The thought of hurting anyone, even the demon who’s made their lives hell in the past, has made Dean’s stomach clench. Which is strange. Even after Hell, where he’d tortured souls for ten years straight, Dean could throw himself into hunting. 

Now? He’s not so sure. 

He’s not sure what’s changed, but Dean’s beginning to have a sneaking suspicion it has to do with the image of Cas, broken and bloody, that is forever burned in his mind. Dean has a feeling he’ll have to come clean to Sam about what happened. After all, it might still have something to do with why Castiel has vanished. But Dean’s afraid if Sam knew what happened, he’ll look at him differently.

  
Dean’s already facing losing his angel. He can’t lose his brother too.

“When was the last time you stood up?”

Dean jumps, scattering the pile of books he’s been pouring through for the last--what time is it? He checks his phone and is shocked to see it’s almost night. Dean groans, leaning back into the sturdy wooden chair as he rubs his face with his hand.

“That’s what I’ve thought,” Sam says. He shoves a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup under Dean’s nose. “Eat,” he orders, adopting a tone that Dean knows there will be no arguing with.

He digs into the soup and is astonished to realize how hungry he is. Dean eats without speaking, dunking the grilled cheese unceremoniously into the soup and eating large bites until there’s nothing left of the sandwich. He tilts the bowl back to drink the remainder of the tomato soup, sighing as he finishes.

“You eat like an animal,” Sam comments reproachfully.

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Sam looks relieved and Dean relaxes slightly, feeling full for the first time in a while. “You, uh, find anything?” Sam asks tentatively.

Dean frowns, trailing his thumb along the page of one of the aged book. “Nada. You?”

“I think I’ve got us a case.”

Dean’s frown deepens, brow furrowing as he stares intently at the book he’s been reading:  _ Curses and Cures _ . “I don’t think we should be wasting time with cases when we should be looking for Cas.”

Sam sighs, pulling out a chair to sit down in. Dean notices he’s got a map and a newspaper tucked under his arm, but he tries his best to staunchly ignore them. “Dean, you’ve been cooped up in the War Room for three days and how much closer are you to finding him?”

Dean doesn’t answer.

“Look,” Sam continues, “You’re just running yourself into the ground here. You barely sleep, I don’t know the last time you’ve eaten...and it’s all been for nothing so far. You need to clear your head.”

Sam’s right, of course. Sometimes the best solution to a problem is to leave and come back later with a new perspective. But there’s something about leaving on a hunt without any new information on Cas that makes Dean painfully aware of the fact that this is just what they’ve always done. Shoved any Cas-related problems out of the way until it was convenient.

But it never was, was it?

When push came to shove, they hadn’t run to Cas’ aid. Dean had kicked a newly human Castiel out of the Bunker. They’d ignored his worries about fading grace, mocked his attempts to save Heaven, allowed him to walk away from his army, no, his  _ family _ , and now…

“He needs us,” Dean says quietly, “What if he’s just struggling to get by and he realizes we’ve given up on him already?” The thought of Castiel being tortured in some far away dungeon makes his blood run cold.

“It’s not giving up,” Sam insists, though his voice is kindly, “You’re just clearing your head. And in the meantime, you’re helping innocent civilians. Cas would want that.”

This is true, Cas has always been the champion for the underdog. Even when he was human, when he was all but powerless, he’d faced off against monsters and angels alike to keep civilians safe. Dean had secretly been proud of Cas, that night in Rexford, facing off against Ephraim the way he had.

Dean wishes he’d said something about it aloud. Hell, he wishes he’d done a lot of things differently that night.

The guilt rises up in Dean again and he reaches for a nearby bottle of beer, only realizing once he’d pressed it to his lips that it was empty. He sighs, catching Sam’s eyes. “Fine. But we are  _ not _ taking that much time out of our schedule for this. As far as I’m concerned, Cas comes first.”

Sam nods, pulling the newspaper out from under his arm. “Shouldn’t be a problem, this case seems pretty local,” he says, flipping through to find the page he was looking for. He slides the paper over to Dean, pointing at a headline.

“11 Missing Children Found in Kansas over the Last Week”

Dean scans the article, noting that children with ages ranging from 5 to 12 were showing up from all corners of the state.

“So? Maybe the cops are getting some lucky breaks?”

“But there’s a lot weird about this,” Sam insists.

“I dunno, Sammy, a lot of kids go missing.”

“Yeah, but of the eleven kids found, only two of them are from Kansas. The rest are all out of state. And get this, most of them were found collapsed on the sides of roads, feet totally bloody, like they’d been walking for miles without shoes.”

Okay. Dean’s starting to see why this might be a case. “You think they were compelled to or something?”

Sam shrugs. “None of the kids seemed to have been heading home. And none of them can remember how they got where they were.”

“This an isolated incident?”

“Nope,” Sam pulls out a map of the United States. There are eleven red markings within the state of Kansas, and many more blue markings on the surrounding states. “In fact, there’s been an increase of disappearing children. And, uh...there’s something worse. A family was driving through a few days ago, road trip or something, and their 8 year old kid opens the door and just...tumbles out of the car.

Dean can’t help but give a sharp intake of breath. “On the highway?”

“Yup.” 

They both look down, Dean fiddling with his empty beer bottle. Sam’s right, Castiel would be all over this case. The guy might be awkward as hell sometimes, but Cas had something special with kids. In a different way than Dean. Dean could get along with kids (probably his immaturity, Sam would joke) but Cas just sort of...understood them. And they understood him. Maybe it was the fact both of them were relatively new to Earth life. 

Dean thinks sadly about how he’d stumbled into the kitchen of the Bunker, before that dreaded moment when he all but cast the ex-angel out, to see Cas struggling to operate the microwave. It had been something so simple, and yet it seemed just slightly out of Cas’ grasp. And Dean had turned around and dumped him out in the cold. Alone. Without any instruction or support. 

“You think it’s demons?”

Sam’s voice pulls Dean out of his reverie and it takes a moment to refocus on the task at hand. Kids...disappearing...demons…Dean shakes his head. “There’s too much that doesn’t make sense,” he says. “A kid’s body is like the worst vessel to take, weak and fragile, even with demon powers running through it. And besides, what demon takes a vessel on a joyride just to be forced to vacate the body seconds later once you’ve killed it falling out of a car?”

Sam nods pensively. “Then I guess we’d better figure out what did this.”

“Where do we start?”

“I’ve already got an address for a family who’s got their kid back,” Sam says, “They live in Lincoln Kansas, about an hour south of us.”

It’s enough time to be on the open road for them to start clearing their heads, but not long enough for Dean to get antsy. Sam’s definitely looked into this option before pitching it to Dean.

Dean grunts. “You think they’ll be okay with feds stopping by so late?”

“It’ll only be about 7pm when we get there,” Sam shrugs, “We should be fine.”

“Then let’s go.” Dean’s up on his feet. The bottle wobbles, dropping off the table, but Dean catches it. Nice to know his reflexes are still good, even if the rest of him isn’t quite there. Truthfully, Dean’s head is still spinning with Castiel. That and the Mark of Cain, which Dean still can’t quite believe is gone.

He’s not sure how he’s going to handle this hunt at all. But if he’s lucky, Dean can get duty tending to scared kids and Sam can take the lead on fighting. 

Dean sighs as he makes his way to his bedroom to change into a presentable FBI suit. There’s so much he should tell Sam. And it’s not like he wants to keep this from Sam, not really, but...Dean’s ashamed. Both this fear of hurting others and his actual assault on Cas...those boiled down to Dean not being strong enough to control himself. 

Absentmindedly, Dean chooses a dark blue tie from his growing collection (he never would have guessed he’d one day grow up to have a collection of ties), expertly knotting it before grabbing a spare FBI badge from the dresser (Agent Carl Wilson) and heading out to find Sam.

He hasn’t noticed until now how tired Sam looks. The kid’s exhausted, dark bags under his eyes, cheeks looking a little more hollow than usual. Dean makes a mental note to take better care of Sam. He’ll do that tonight, along with fessing up about...well, at least one of the problems he’s been having. Saying it all at once seems too daunting to even consider.

When they’re in the car, Dean notes Sam’s eyes glance worriedly towards the radio. Right. It’s been unusually silent the last couple of drives. Dean rummages through his collection of cassettes, removing the Def Leppard tape and inserting a Bruce Springsteen. As they drive, Dean can’t help but notice Sam’s focus lingering on the box of tapes.

“You want to listen to something different?”

This question is startling enough for Sam, who shakes his head. “No...just, uh…”

And that’s when Dean sees it. Tucked amidst all the other tapes is one with a label that looks much newer than the others. Neatly scrawled across is “Cas Music Education.” Dean honestly can’t remember when he’d made that tape. Likely after Cas made some stupid comment about not knowing who Robert Plant was or something. 

He’d considered including the tape in the backpack of supplies he’d hastily cobbled together for Cas when Cas was human, but had refrained. After all, the guy had nothing, why send him off with a cassette tape he wouldn’t even be able to play?

“You made him a mix-tape?”

“You make it sound like a chick flick,” Dean huffs, “I just wanted him to know what the classics were. For the greater good.”

He expects Sam to respond with a snarky comment, some sort of joke, but Sam simply says, “Did Cas get to listen to it?”

“No,” Dean admits softly. So much has happened since then. And whatever roadtrip Dean had imagined for them to listen to the tape naturally didn’t occur. Yet another regret to add to the pile.

There’s a long pause from Sam. Then. “We’ll listen to it when we’re driving him home. I bet he’ll appreciate it a lot more now that he’s been human.”

And that’s the end of it. Dean’s still a little puzzled as to why Sam hasn’t once tried to tease him about the issue, but it’s probably got to do with the fact Dean hasn’t exactly been 100% since the Mark was removed. Give him a few days, things would probably go back to normal. Then again, Dean isn’t quite sure what normal means anymore.

Though in some ways, “normal” fits very well with the house they drive up to. Neatly trimmed lawn, modest garage, a couple flower pots garnishing the porch…

“You ever think about settling down like this?” Dean asks Sam as they walk up to the front step, sun just starting to set behind them.

“I did. Kind of. When I was with Amelia…” 

They can’t discuss further, not that Dean particularly wants to open that can of worms, as the door is opened and they come face to face with a balding, middle aged man. He’s wearing a white dress shirt, like he’s come home from work, but it’s untucked, and lacking a tie.

“Who are you?” he asks, pushing a thin pair of wire rimmed glasses up his nose.

“FBI,” Dean says, him and Sam brandishing their badges in unison. The man examines them, a tired look crossing his face.

“Look, if this is about Eliza, we’ve already talked to--”

He’s cut off by a woman in sweatpants and an apron, her brown hair swept back into a loose ponytail. She holds a spatula in one hand and nestles a baby to her hip with the other. “More police?” she asks.

“FBI,” the man replies, “Don’t worry, I’m telling them they have to leave.”

She brushes past him to look Sam and Dean up and down herself. “Can you find who did this to our kids?”

Sam’s brow furrows. “I thought only one child was missing, ma'am.”

“Only one was,” the man says, stepping in front of the woman, “Jeana’s just got some crazy theories. I think she’s stressed with the baby and all--”

“They’re not theories, Eric!” Jeana snaps before turning back to Sam and Dean, “Please, please stay. You can have dinner with us and everything…”

“Dinner sounds awesome,” Dean says before Sam can stop him. Both Sam and Eric look cranky as the Winchesters are allowed across the threshold and to the kitchen table.

The house is a little too clean, but that’s probably normal. The press must have swarmed this family, especially with the return of their daughter. The table is covered in crayons and papers. Most of the papers are simply covered with various scribbles in different colors. “We’re trying to encourage Eliza to draw what happened to her,” Jeana explains, “But it’s not working so well.”

Eric sulks behind her as she bustles to the kitchen. “We’re making macaroni and hot dogs, I hope you don’t mind,” she calls to the Winchesters, “It’s Eliza’s favorite.”

“Your hospitality is already gracious enough,” Sam replies. Always the polite one.

“Eric!” Jeana’s voice rings from the kitchen, “I found another one of your stupid mouse traps!”

“Mouse traps?” Dean turns to Eric curiously.

Eric sighs. “Place used to be crawling with mice. I made due with traps until recently, when Jeana insisted we hire professional exterminators a couple weeks ago. I was gonna take down the traps earlier, but...well, with everything going on…”

“We understand,” Sam nods.

“Eric!” 

Eric jumps at the sound of his wife’s voice, standing up and leaving the Winchesters as he goes into the kitchen to take care of the mouse trap. With Eric gone, Dean takes his chance to start checking out the crayon drawings on the table.

“Dude, what are you--”

“They said they’re trying to get her to draw what happened, right?” Dean says, shuffling through several pages that are just angry red scribbles, “Maybe she did.”

“Dean, no offense, but the kid’s kind of the furthest thing from an artist.”

“Still,” Dean pulls out his phone and starts snapping pictures of each of the drawings, “Might be a clue in disguise.”

“This can’t be legal.” Sam hisses.

“We’re masquerading as federal agents,” Dean hisses back, “The law isn’t really useful here.”

He’s finishing up a shot of the final picture when Jeana re-enters the room, a pot of broccoli in one hand. Dean hastily shoves the phone into his jacket pocket. “Crap, I forgot about these,” she mutters, “I’m so sorry.”

“We’re the ones intruding,” Sam says smoothly, sweeping all the papers into a neat pile while Dean collects the crayons into a nearby tub, “We don’t mind. Seriously.” Jeana shows them where to put the coloring supplies and they help her bring out dishes for dinner. Once the table is set, baby carefully put in a nearby high chair, Jeana calls for Eliza.

The girl, around 10, wheels into the room in a wheelchair. She looks gaunt, eyes slightly sunken. Her feet are very bandaged. 

“Eliza, these agents are here for dinner. They’re here to help you,” Jeana says as she piles a helping of macaroni and hot dogs onto a plate, which she sets at Eliza’s place, “Can you tell them anything?”

Eliza stares at them nervously before poking at her meal.

“She doesn’t have to say anything if she doesn’t want to,” Eric mutters gruffly.

“She hasn’t said anything since we’ve gotten her back,” Jeana frets, “The doctors say it’s stress, but...I don’t know. I don’t know what happened to her.”

“Can’t we just enjoy our dinner together?”

Jeana sighs and the Winchesters remain quiet throughout the meal. It’s only after, when Jeana practically drags Dean into the kitchen with her to help clean up that she speaks.

“Something weird happened to her, I just know it.”

“Weird like...what?” Dean watches Jeana carefully. It really could be that she's stressed, but he’s seen a lot of people try to confront and explain their brush with the supernatural before. And how few people believe them.

Jeana sighs. “I think there was some sort of...I don’t know, spell or something cast on the house.”

“What?”

Jeana grabs his jacket sleeve, “Just hear me out. The night Eliza disappeared I heard banging. It was Dawson, my baby boy...I don’t know how to describe it, but he was trying to get out of the crib.”

“Does he normally do that?”

Jeana shakes her head forcefully. “Never. And when I took him out of the crib, he kept fighting to get out of my arms. For  _ hours _ . I was so busy taking care of him that I didn’t notice that Eliza had…” her eye well with tears.

“Whatever happened to your daughter, it’s not your fault, okay?” Dean says, “You’re probably right. My partner and I suspect something weird’s been going on. And since weird is kind of our specialty...you’re in the right hands.”

Jeana dries her tears on her apron. “I just can’t bear the thought of another mother going through what I have…”

Dean decides against telling her about the other families. No point in stressing out the woman more than she needed. 

“I’m sorry Eliza wasn’t more help,” Jeana announces as they make their way out of the kitchen, “Or us, for that matter.”

“You’ve been plenty helpful,” Dean replies, “My partner and I will be in touch if we have any more questions.”

They leave the house shortly after, to the evidently profound relief of Eric, who never seemed comfortable with them around. The sun has completely set by now, replaced by the faint twinkling of stars that are obscured by the various light pollution from the town.

“Learn anything good?” Dean asks as they drive off.

“Eric admits Eliza’s acting wary of him every since she got back,” Sam says, “And get this? The night Eliza disappeared, Eric said he could hear a faint whistle.”

“Angels?”

“See,” Sam says, “I was thinking that too, but I dunno, Dean. This doesn’t really seem like their M.O.”

“They’re winged dicks,” Dean retorts, “Taking kids seems right up their alley.”

“I wish Cas was here,” Sam muses absentmindedly. His eyes widen the moment he realizes what he’s said. 

Dean’s jaw clenches.  _ Cas _ . It seems like he can’t even go a couple hours without thinking of him. And sure, Cas would have been a convenient source to have around for a hunt like this. He’d know right away if this body-snatching thing was angel in a heartbeat. But, more than that, Cas would have been...he would have been…Dean can’t even define it.

It’s decided by the Winchesters they’ll return to the Bunker for the night. It’s too late to go snooping around anywhere else and besides, both of them are secretly determined to get the other one to bed early.

After a few beers, a couple hours of research that yields no answers on what’s snatching kids  _ or _ what happened to Cas, and a few comments from Sam to make him feel slightly guilty, Dean’s off to bed. He strips down to his boxers and slides under the covers, staring up at the dark ceiling for what feels like ages. 

Dean considers praying to Cas. He even slides out of bed and onto his knees, but when he bows his head, the words won’t come and Dean’s caught with the sneaking suspicion that he’s lost that right to pray to Cas. To feel close to him.

Sadly, Dean crawls back into bed and waits until sleep takes him.

He opens his eyes to pure darkness. Not just that the room is hard to make out with no lights on, it’s so dark Dean can’t even see his own hand as he waves it in front of his face. There’s a light, though, far off in the distance, which Dean follows, walking tentatively through the darkened haze until he steps into something eerily familiar.

It’s the library, lit in such a way that it seems like everything is casting a dramatic shadow, from the table to the pile of books to...Cas. Dean’s breath hitches in his throat as he sees the horribly familiar sight, Cas bloody and broken and motionless on the ground and as Dean moves closer he almost retches.

Because there’s one tiny difference between this scene and the one he’s used to seeing in his head. The angel blade isn’t embedded in a book, it’s embedded in Castiel’s throat.

Dean’s frozen in shock, hovering over the angel with not a clue what to do when Cas’ eyes flash open, blue in stark contrast to the red that’s pooling everywhere else. He makes a strange gurgling sound, his hand weakly reaching for Dean. It brushes Dean’s shin, sticky with blood and already beginning to be cool to the touch.

A scream wells up in Dean’s throat as he surveys the gore, a part of him whispering that  _ this _ is the reality. That he hadn’t missed that time. Cas is still gurgling, blood dribbling down his lips as his eyes never leave Dean. The angel’s hand drops, the awful noises cease, and Cas is still.

Dean wakes up in a cold sweat, the scream still on his lips.

He can’t sleep. That much is obvious. Rattled from the dream (was it a dream? It seemed so real) Dean shuffles to the kitchen and proceeds to make three sandwiches, each with different jam. He’s beyond careful with the application of the condiments, ensuring the perfect ratio of peanut butter to jelly. Then he wraps them in plastic, carefully labeling each sandwich before stacking them in the freezer. 

Sam had frozen bread before, this couldn’t be much different. And when Cas came home, he’d want food fast. Dean makes a mental note to find other quick foods to have on hand for when Cas came home. Because Cas had to come home. He had to.

Dean is able to surprise Sam with a hearty breakfast in the morning, so he reasons the “not sleeping” can’t have been all bad. Sam shoots him a suspicious glance, he knows his brother well enough to know Dean isn’t usually awake at this hour, but thankfully doesn’t say anything and instead takes a long sip of coffee.

After a couple hours of research with no results, Sam suggests they check another household of a returned child. This one is a little further away, in the town of Wichita, Kansas, but the child is younger, which Sam argues might help in the recovery. 

“The kid might be able to talk. And even if they can’t, maybe we can find a link between the families.”

Dean relents. He used to hate days like these, the dressing up and playing nice around complete strangers. Now? This is the easy part of the job. He much prefers this to getting thrown around or bitten or clawed or whatever it is the monsters do to attack. And yes, while it’s inevitable, it’s still unenjoyable.

He pulls another blue tie from his collection, a light blue one this time, and carefully knots it. Dean tells himself there’s no coincidence for the coloring, but deep down, he thinks this might be a lie.

By the time they make it to Wichita, it’s lunchtime. They’re greeted at the door by a larger woman, who invites them in. The house is garishly out of style, wood panels lining the walls. Unlike the last place they visited, it’s messy. Her mail sits in a large pile on the coffee table, various toys scatter the floor.

“I’m sorry,” the woman--Cecilia--says, “After Andy disappeared I….well, let myself go a little.”

The boys nod understandingly. When Cecilia offers them something to eat, Dean once again agrees. Sam elbows him in the ribs, which sends Dean careening into the coffee table.

“Quit the theatrics,” Sam mutters, but Dean’s stunt has already sent the contents of the table onto the floor. 

They’re scooping up random magazines and letters together when Dean stops. “Look at this.”

He shoves a letter under Sam’s nose. Sam makes a face, taking the letter from Dean so he could look at it himself. The name “Hamelin’s Extermination” is scrawled across the top.

“So?”

“It’s a bill. For an exterminator. The last house we went to, Eric told us they’d hired an exterminator before their kid went missing. And now, same thing. Kid goes missing not long after the exterminators come.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “You think there’s a connection?”

Dean shrugs, “Best clue we’ve got so far.”

Sam nods. They finish cleaning up the coffee table when Cecilia comes back, two plates of pizza in hand. 

“I hope you don’t mind, it’s just the frozen stuff,” she says apologetically.

“We should get going,” Sam replies, clearly not wanting to intrude.

“Sam, she made us food. We might as well eat it.” 

So they do, eating the pizza as Cecilia talked. She didn’t have any new information, though she did also mention a slight high pitched ringing in her ears the night her son disappeared, but soon the discussion turns to more personal things.

“What about your husband?” Sam asks, pizza finished.

Cecilia's face falls slightly. “Gone.”

“I’m sorry he left you,” Dean’s surprisingly soft, not his usual gruff reply.

“He didn’t  _ leave! _ ” Cecilia snaps. Her face falls and she squeezes her hands together, “Dave...just hasn’t come home yet. He was off fighting in Iraq, see, and…” her voice grows shaky, “they don’t know where he is.”

The Winchesters are quiet, Dean having found intense focus on his feet.

“I’m so sorry for prying,” Sam says finally, reaching out to give her hand a reassuring squeeze, “We, uh, lost somebody too.”

Dean tenses up at those words, like he’s about to break into pieces if there’s further mention of the incident. The visions of the night before swarm back, Castiel in the darkness, dying on the floor of the Bunker without even a goodbye.

“My advice?” Cecilia’s eyes are only for Dean and he’s got a sneaking suspicion she’s aware of his feelings, “Have faith. Even if it’s hard, have faith they’ll come back. Because the alternative…” she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, boys. You are federal agents, probably very busy. I shouldn’t have wasted your time…”

“It’s not a waste,” Sam replies, pushing to standing, “This has been very helpful.”

“Yeah,” Dean can barely muster that gravely reply, eyes flicking nervously to meet Cecilia’s. 

“We’ll let you know if we find anything,” Sam continues, all but shepherding Dean out the doorway and into the car while Cecilia waves from the doorway.

Once in the Impala, Sam turns on Dean. “You want to explain what that was about?”

Dean’s brow furrows. “It’s nothing. I’ve got it under control.”

“Dean,” Sam’s voice is more urgent now, “You almost fell apart in some stranger’s living room. You’ve been pouring through dusty old books in every spare moment of your time for days now and I have  _ no _ idea how much you’re sleeping, but I know it’s not a lot!”

Dean stares at the wheel, debating about what he’s supposed to tell Sam. Wondering if he can even speak of that awful dream out loud. Knowing full well his response will only make things worse, Dean simply allows his fingers to curl around the steering wheel. “I’m fine, Sammy.”

“Dean, we’re going to have to confront whatever this thing is that’s taking kids and if you’re not feeling up for it--”

“I’m. Fine.” Dean’s voice is clipped as he starts the ignition, peeling out of the driveway. “So quit treating me like I’m not. Let’s just focus on finishing this damn case.”

Sam opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then closes it again. “Fine,” he mutters, “But once this is over, you’re going to tell me  _ something _ about what’s happening with you. Because even if you can take on whatever we’re facing now while you’re not at full capacity, whatever happened to Cas? That’s big fish stuff, Dean. I can feel it in my bones. So, fine. We won’t speak now. But you  _ will _ tell me what happened.”

Through all the irritation and worry, Dean can’t help but feel the tiniest spark of pride for Sam, standing up for himself. “Fine.” 

“Good,” Sam pulls out his phone, “In the meantime, I think we ought to pay this  _ Hamelin’s Exterminators _ a visit, don’t you think?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow. Three chapters down and already so much has happened that I wasn't expecting to write. Thank you guys so much for your support. This has been a lot of fun so far to write, I hope you're having fun reading it.


	4. A Little Hunting Goes a Long Way

“This took way more digging than it should have,” Sam announces. They’ve had to stop at a library in Newton as Sam was struggling to get internet access on the highway.

Dean pokes his nose out of the book he’s been reading. It’s such a strange sight, seeing Dean at a library actively searching for books. Especially when the book is a dusty copy of Dante’s  _ Paradiso _ , which the kind of thing Dean would usually tease Sam about. 

“It’s research, Sammy,” Dean says, closing the book onto his thumb, to mark his spot, “I thought you said it always takes digging.” He grins, a teasing look on his face. Sam rolls his eyes.

“Not for this. It’s a business, you’d think they’d  _ want _ to be easily found,” Sam replies, “But it’s almost impossible to track them down online.”

“How do they get business, then?”

Sam shrugs. “Word of mouth, I guess.”

“Did you find their headquarters?”

This is where it’s gotten tricky. “Not exactly,” Sam admits, running a hand through his hair. It’s then that he realizes it’s been awhile since he’s showered. Of course, with everything that’s been happening, that has to be expected, although Sam’s still embarrassed he’s gone out in public in this state. “I had to call Cecilia just to get the return address on her bill.”

Dean chuckles. “How’d that conversation go?”

Sam huffs a laugh, “About as well as you’d expect. But I got the address.”

“Great!”

“Not exactly. I input the address on Google Earth and…”

“Lemme guess, it’s a cave?”

“Close. Abandoned office building.”

Sam opens his phone, turning it to Dean to show him the picture.

“Clever,” Dean mutters under his breath, “At first glance it just looks like a normal place of business.”

“And I doubt any of their customers have done much digging,” Sam concludes.

Dean slides the phone back to Sam before pushing to standing. “You remember the days when monsters were more straight forwards? Hiding under the bed and killing their victims like any normal cliche monster should?”

“Yeah,” Sam grins, “Remember when demons used to be a thing that phased us?”

Dean’s actually laughing now. “Now I’ve got the King of Hell in my contacts list.”

This sends both of them into peals of laughter, which earns them a sharp “SHHHH” from the woman at the check-out desk.

Sam’s not sure what it is, probably stress combined with a lack of sleep, but they keep laughing, even as the librarian shepherds them out the door. “What has our life become?” Dean’s breathless from laughter as he unlocks the car door.

“Unbelievable,” Sam sighs as the laughter slowly dissolves in the Impala. He’s staring out the sunlight window when he feels Dean’s eyes on him.

“You, uh, wish it was still like that?” Dean asks, voice a little more quiet, a little more serious.

“Where we were freaked by demons?”

“No. Well, yeah, but...I mean, where it wasn’t this complicated.”

Sam looks away thoughtfully, wondering what exactly Dean meant. Was it the life they shared together, the two of them hunting the small fish of the monster realm? Was it Sam at Stanford, going on to try to become a lawyer? 

If Sam was being entirely honest, he’d say his life got complicated the moment Dean had stepped back into it, had pulled him away from his home, his school,  _ Jess _ , and yanked him back into the life he’d always yearned to escape. Not that life with Dean was bad. Sam loves his brother, he’s enjoyed much of the time they’ve spent together. But there was something alluring about the old life, the one he was facing studying at Stanford...

So would he go back? Sam’s dimly aware that Dean hasn’t turned on the ignition yet, like his brother is frozen in time waiting for an answer. Sam thinks back again on the past, but this time he also can’t help but remember all the wonderful people he’d met along the way.

Jodi.

Charlie.

Kevin.

Garth.

_ Cas _ .

And that’s when it hits Sam, what Dean really means by asking the question at all. Was it worth it, all the pain and confusion, the angels and demons and Heaven and Hell...was it worth it just to have met the people they met? More specifically, was all that worth knowing Cas?

Even though Sam knows Dean’s eyes are now boring down on him, he can’t help but pause.  _ Is this worth it? _

And somewhere within himself, Sam finds the answer.  _ He’s family _ .

They all were. Cas, Garth, Kevin, Charlie, Jodi...them and all the others the Winchesters have been able to befriend, they’re family. And they’re all worth it.

Sam grins, turning back to Dean at last. Dean’s eyes are wide and pleading, his hands gripping the wheel of the Impala like his car is the only thing anchoring him to the world. “The uncomplicated stuff would have gotten boring,” Sam’s got only a hint of joking in his voice.

Dean relaxes slightly. “Yeah, it’s definitely got us on our feet…” Sam can tell immediately his response isn’t enough.

“Look,” Sam sighs, “Do I wish things were different? Yeah, of course. It’s not a fun job and I hate that I’m scared to death that you or someone else I care about is gonna end up dead. But would I go back and erase it all? No. The lives we’ve met, the people we’ve saved...that’s what matters.”

A shadow crosses Dean’s face. He looks like he’s trying to decide whether or not to say something. Sam waits patiently, wondering if Dean is actually going to confess something. It’s not like his brother, the whole “being open” thing. Granted, it’s not exactly second nature for Sam, but he’s started looking into self-help books lately. 

Secretly, behind Dean’s back. But with Dean gone all crazed “Mark of Cain,” Sam had felt like he’d reached the end of his rope. Which was how the Google searches started. Things like “PTSD” and “depression” cropping up, always carefully erased from the search history before Dean got a chance to use the laptop.

He’s considered not erasing them before. Leaving a hint for Dean to seek help too.

Regardless, Dean seems to have made some sort of decision on his own, because after a short sigh, he sags against the wheel of the car. “I didn’t save Cas.”

This catches Sam off guard, especially as Dean’s tone is one of confession. “We’re gonna find him, Dean.”

Dean gives his head a violent shake. “Not what I mean, Sammy.”

Sam’s quiet, trying to decide whether or not to push harder or not, but Dean speaks up on his own accord.

“It was, uh, when I went all Mark of Cain on the Stynes…”

_ Oh _ . Sam remembers that day all too well. Finding the dead bodies in the Bunker had been a surprise he hadn’t welcomed. Not only was he weighed down from guilt for Charlie’s death, he now had the blood of an entire family on his hands and, to make matters worse, Dean was missing. Again.

“Cas came to find me.”

Sam’s breath hitches in his throat. He almost wants Dean to stop speaking, he doesn’t want to hear what happened, but he knows Dean needs to say this aloud, so Sam just nods mutely.

“He, uh, I guess he was trying to save me from myself. And I…” Dean’s throat constricts and he looks away from Sam, staring at into his hands, “I almost killed him, Sammy.” 

It’s about as bad as Sam had guessed. After all, Dean had almost killed  _ him _ a couple days later. “But you didn’t,” Sam replies gently.

“You don’t understand,” Dean’s voice wavers, “I beat the shit out of him, Sam...just kept throwing him around like a rag doll and he didn’t...he didn’t even lift a finger…”

The more Dean speaks, the more Sam gets worried. Still, there’s one obvious fact that keeps Sam afloat. “You didn’t kill him, though,” he reminds Dean gently.

“Might as well have,” Dean mutters, “I…” he closes his eyes, almost as though trying to avoid reliving the event, “I stabbed the angel blade inches from his head and said…” his voice is quiet and gravely, the words barely distinguishable from each other, “...the next time I saw him, I’d kill him.”

And there it is. The details to the event Sam had been suspecting for a while. Dean’s head is bowed, eyes still closed as he squeezes the wheel of the Impala. Sam’s frozen, not sure what to do. This unprompted confession isn’t like Dean, so Sam isn’t sure what of their unspoken rules applies. 

Sam’s aware that people outside wandering past the parked car are giving them strange looks, but he doesn’t care. They’ll take their time, working through whatever this is Dean’s dealing with. It’s the least he can do, Sam figures. 

“Sammy,” Dean’s eyes are red as he looks up to his brother, he’s fighting off tears for all he’s worth. That’s typical Dean. “What if Cas died thinking that I wanted him dead?”

“He’s not dead,” Sam replies, almost automatically. He’s not sure why the response comes so naturally. Perhaps it’s because Castiel has always defied the odds. Or, more logically, because the angel’s disappearance as of yet has too many holes in the story to conclude that he is gone for good. Either way, they can’t give up hope.

“Then he’s trapped or hurting or something,” Dean continues, “And he won’t think we’re coming, Sammy. He’ll think I…” and then Dean’s gulping like he can’t get enough air, rubbing a weary hand across his face.

Something that feels like a bolt of lightning runs through Sam’s heart as he realizes the implications of Dean’s statement. If  _ Dean _ wasn’t going after Cas...then of course the angel would assume Sam wouldn’t either. After all, hadn’t Sam told Cas point blank that saving Dean was the most important thing on the agenda? Like it or not (and Sam did  _ not _ like the idea one bit) it was more than likely Castiel, if he was trapped, would be trapped under the assumption nobody was coming to save him.

“Then we find him,” Sam says firmly, giving Dean’s shoulder a squeeze, “And we prove him wrong.”

Dean opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, tilting his head upwards as if in prayer. Then he purses his lips together and looks Sam in the eye with a nod. Sam isn’t sure if that means he really agrees, or if he’s merely trying to end the difficult conversation.

“He knows you were under the influence of the Mark,” Sam adds as Dean’s hand finally strays from the wheel and to the key, which is still hanging from the ignition. “Cas knows you don’t want to kill him.”

Dean huffs a bleak laugh as the car roars to life. “Great,” he mutters darkly, “Cas probably knows I’m not gonna kill him. That’s the sort of thing you expect from a guy who apparently shares a profound bond with you.”

“Dean…”

The car is already in motion, Dean’s eyes focused on the road as he backs out of the parking lot and merges back onto the town’s main road. “We’re gonna get him back,” Dean says. Sam can sense the finality in his tone. “And we’re not letting him go again. Cas is family, and…”

_ And I don’t know where we messed up so badly taking care of family _ , Sam silently finishes Dean’s thought, which hangs in the air. There’s silence for only a couple moments, though, before Dean is rummaging through the box of cassettes, shoving a well-used AC/DC cassette into the car and cranking up the volume. 

“Hamelin’s Exterminators is gonna be about an hour north,” Sam says, “A little town called Lost Springs.”

They use Sam’s phone as GPS, neither of them speaking much for the drive up. Dean’s taken to rubbing his thumb up and down the wheel. Sam, on the other hand, laces and unlaces his fingers. It’s unusual for either of them to share this much and Sam isn’t sure what to say or what to do.

What’s more, there’s the creeping fear that when this hunt ends, they’ll be back where they were before. No new information, no more leads, nothing. And the longer they go on without finding Cas...Sam knows what it’s like to feel like there was no escape. The Cage had not been a pleasant experience, and that was putting it very lightly. 

He can feel some of the remaining memories of the Cage clawing at his mind. True, Castiel had taken the nightmare fueled madness, but that hadn’t erased Sam’s recollection of the ordeals he’d had to survive under Michael and Lucifer. 

As terrible as the things he lived through were, all the miserable experiences were compounded significantly by the belief that nobody was coming for him. There’s a lonely finality that creeps into one’s bones with that sort of arduous abandonment, especially for one so used to having his brother at his side.

Cas has spent most of his lengthy lifetime utterly surrounded by his brothers and sisters.

And now he believes he has nobody.

“We’re here.” Dean’s gruff voice breaks Sam’s reverie. 

Here, as it turns out, isn’t much. According to the city sign, there’s only about 70 residents in the town. Not exactly a place Sam would think to start a business. The building they pull up to looks like it hasn’t been used for years, the paint is peeling and the windows are grimy.

“Well, this looks nice and welcoming,” Dean jokes, turning off the engine. He pats his jacket, a silent reminder that he’s armed and ready. “20 bucks says we get jumped the second we walk through that door.”

Sam balks slightly at the comment. “Maybe we should get an idea of what we’re getting into before rushing into it?”

“How are we going to do that? We’re running on a few minuscule clues, Sam. The best way to get information is--”

“To confront it head on,” Sam agrees, “I know.”

He’s forgotten about this side of Dean, the part of his brother that becomes all the more willing to rush into a fight when he’s dealing with something painful. Which means it’s Sam’s responsibility to keep his brother safe.

Sam follows his brother out of the car and into the building. The interior looks like it hasn’t been renovated since the 70s, wood paneling covering most of the walls. It smells like dust and rot, Sam notes, wrinkling his nose as they make their way to the ancient front desk.

A small, rusted bell sits on the desk. Dean rings it, but the sound is short and muffled. Meaning Dean rings it again.

On the third try, they’re approached by a middle aged man. He’d likely be considered attractive, his thick hair mostly grey. The wrinkles in his face make him look distinguished. But his face is crumpled into a deep frown and his outfit is garishly silky and colorful. The suit itself is red, followed up with a purple vest. His shirt underneath is yellow, with a bright green tie. The bright colors clash and the niceness of the suit stands out against the rest of the office.

“What do you want?” the man snaps.

Dean whips out his FBI badge, forcing Sam to follow suit. “We’re here because we think you can help with an investigation.”

It’s too direct. Sam doesn’t like this plan. If this is the place they’re looking for, it’s only alerting the thing running it that people are on its tail. And it’s not like Dean to make this big of a misstep. But like it or not, this is the route they’re going. Sam only prays Dean will at least let him play good cop.

“What sort of investigation is going to include an exterminator’s business?”

“We’re looking for missing children. Kids who go missing less than a day after you do your work in their homes.”

The man in the brightly colored suit shrugs. “I fail to see how the connection is anything more than coincidence.”

Dean smirks. “Unfortunately for you, we’re federal agents, so our word overrides yours.”

“Not without a permit.”

The smirk fades as Dean realizes he’s up against someone who’s out to give him trouble. His brow furrows. “You trying to obstruct justice?”

“I know my rights.”

Dean’s growing more frustrated by the second, so Sam steps in. “I’m sorry about my partner, he’s a little jumpy. If we could even have a five minute tour of the place, maybe ask a few questions in a couple days, that’s all we’d need.”

“Then you leave. You’re bad for business.”

Dean opens his mouth like he’s going to retort, after all the place isn’t exactly swamped with customers, but Sam steps in. “Deal.”

The man leads them down a hallway, just as bleak and aged as the lobby. He fiddles with a locked door, pushing it open to reveal a variety of equipment. The room is large, the floor is concrete, aside from a metal hatch in the middle. One wall is lined with shelves of chemicals, each labeled with names Sam can’t even read. A variety of spraying equipment lines the wall opposite and several brightly colored suits hang underneath a small window.

“Here’s the rest of the place,” the man says, “Unless you want to see the bathroom too.”

As Sam peruses the shelf of chemicals, the sound of scuffling pulls him away. He looks around the room, trying to locate the source of the sound.

“What the hell is that?” Dean demands.

“Mice,” the man replies, “Ironic, I know. Just haven’t had enough time to get to clearing my own space. Now, I believe your time is up.”

There’s an edge to his voice that Sam doesn’t want to argue with. As they make their way back out, Sam catches a glimpse of a sheet on the front desk. He shoots Dean a meaningful look.

Dean clears his throat loudly. “Actually, I want to see that bathroom,” he says, “You can never be too thorough.” 

The man looks incredibly unhappy at this news, for a moment his face twisting into something almost grotesque, but the expression is gone quickly as he leads Dean away. With his opening, Sam makes his way to the desk, whipping out his phone. Sure enough, the documents on the desk appear to be the company’s upcoming clients. He snaps a few pictures, heart pounding. 

Sam is only just barely able to extricate himself from the front desk as Dean returns, complaining loudly about how he can’t be expected to pee somewhere that’s crawling with vermin.

“This place was definitely weird,” Dean grumbles loudly as they leave the building, “What’s more suspicious than an exterminator that hasn’t gotten rid of their own pests?”

“The owner gave me the creeps,” Sam admits, “And I don’t like not knowing what we’re dealing with.”

“No cold spots, no sulfur,” Dean rattles off as he swings himself into the Impala, “Nothing but the fact the whole set-up was creepy as hell.”

“I hate to say it,” Sam says, “But we might need to go back to the Bunker to research before we get back out there.”

There’s something defeated about the way Dean slumps into his seat at those words. Sam’s wanted to avoid the Bunker too, if for nothing else than to try and get Dean out of his funk, but the Bunker is absolutely the best place to do research. Especially when they have no idea what they’re up against.

Dean wordlessly swaps out the cassettes, inserting  _ The Beatles Greatest Hits _ into the player.  _ She Loves You _ crackles to life as Dean pulls out of the parking lot. The lyrics settle upon the Winchesters like a cloud.

_ She says you hurt her so, She almost lost her mind, And now she says she knows, You’re not the hurting kind, She says she loves you, And you know that can’t be bad, Yes she loves you, And you know you should be glad… _

The drive home was a fast one, though Sam isn’t sure if it’s because Dean was speeding or compared to some of their longer trips, this one seems shorter in comparison. 

“So, what do we know about this case so far?” Dean says aloud. Sam’s guiding him into the kitchen, a subtle hint that the both should eat. He grabs the bread from the pantry while Sam rummages through their mostly empty fridge to grab meats and cheese. He’d gone on a small grocery run the night before while Dean was busy researching. 

“Kids are disappearing,” Sam sets the sandwich fillings onto the counter, turning to retrieve the mustard and mayonnaise, “Usually after their house is visited by  _ Hamelin’s Exterminators _ .”

“Right,” Dean opens a drawer to remove two butter knives, handing one to Sam. He pulls two slices of bread out of the bag before pushing that towards his brother as well, “And both times, the adults mentioned hearing some kind of high pitched whistle.”

Sam squirts mustard onto one slice of bread, spreading it evenly with the knife. He glances at the meat and cheese before poking his head back into the fridge to grab a bag of lettuce and a tomato. “You think we’re looking for something that eats kids?”

Dean gives his bread a generous helping of mayo before snatching the mustard up. “I don’t know. If it ate them, why have we found so many wandering around?”

Sam grabs a cutting board and knife, slicing into the tomato. He pointedly plops a few of the slices onto one of Dean’s pieces of bread. Dean frowns. “You gotta eat some vegetables,” Sam retorts, shoving some lettuce on Dean’s bread before returning to the tomato. 

“Too bad the kids don’t remember anything,” Dean says, resigned to the vegetables. To make up for it, he loads his sandwich with probably two slices too many of roast beef. Adding a final slice of cheese, Dean squashes the two slices of bread together, taking a big bite.

“We’ll find something,” Sam says, adding a few pieces of turkey to his own sandwich before putting it together. They eat in a companionable silence for a while, both simply standing around the counter.

“You remember when I used to make your sandwiches?” Dean asks as  he finishes off his own meal.

“Yeah,” Sam grins, “You used to cut the crusts off.”

“And you told me they were the best sandwiches in the whole world.”

Sam laughs. “They were pretty good.”

For a moment, Dean smiles too, but it fades all too quickly. “I wish I could still be that kind of brother. The one who could fix anything.”

Sam sets his sandwich down. “You are,” he says softly, “Things are just a little different now.”

Dean gives Sam a strange, sad look. Then his eyes flicker slightly as he snatches Sam’s sandwich off the table and takes a bite. “I still think I make better sandwiches.”

Sam chuckles, taking the sandwich back, “Make another one! Don’t eat mine!”

Dean laughs as he puts away the ingredients and washes off the dishes they used. They go their separate ways for research, Dean simply grabbing a pile of books and migrating to the war room, while Sam lingers in the library.

Hours pass and it feels like Sam’s eyes are glazing over. He’s about to brew himself a pot of coffee when something stands out: “It is 100 years since our children left…”

Sam blinks back the sleepiness, holding his place in the book with his thumb as he checks the cover.  _ History of German Towns _ . A quick glance at the chapter title reveals the town in question is Hameln. Sam reads further, eyes widening. He’s on his feet in moments, racing to the War Room.

Dean’s passed out in a pile of books, his face snoring softly against a book titled  _ Childhood Ailments _ . 

“Dean, I think I’ve got something,” Sam shakes Dean lightly with one hand, the other holding his place in the book. His brother jerks awake, blinking sleepily at Sam, who slides the book under Dean’s nose. “The pied piper.”

“What?” Dean’s voice is husky.

“I think that’s what’s been taking kids,” Sam replies excitedly, “It all lines up.”

“Isn’t the pied piper a fairy tale?”

Sam sighs, jamming a finger onto the page. “This is actually recorded into the town’s history, though. A couple hundred years ago, a man dressed in bright colors came into the town and lead the children away. Accounts vary, but they all say he was using some kind of music to lure them out.”

“But nobody reported music.”

“Yeah,” Sam runs a hand through his hair, “But they  _ did _ report a high pitched whistling sound. And I was thinking, maybe it’s like a dog whistle? Y’know, something the kids can hear well but the parents can barely make out.”

Dean scratches the stubble on his chin, pondering Sam’s words. “And the exterminator thing?”

“Dude. Pied Piper. The guy who supposedly lead all the rats out of town? The only thing I don’t understand is why he’s taking kids. In the legend it varies, some say he took the kids because the parents didn’t pay him for getting rid of the rats, but...as far as I can tell, most people have paid their bills.”

At this point, Dean’s fully awake, shoving Sam’s book off his own to flip through to a page. “I think I’ve got an answer,” Dean says, “There are rumors that consuming a child will give you immortality.”

“Gross.”

“Right?” Dean, “But it would make sense. Guy consumes a bunch of children, then disappears for a while until his immortality is starting to run out.”

They’re both silent, pondering the combined theory. “The warehouse,” they announce in unison.

“That’s gotta be where he’s keeping the kids,” Dean says.

“And he’s probably gone tonight, stealing whatever kids he found at the latest place he’s done extermination work for.”

Dean’s on his feet so fast he knocks a stack of books on the floor. He doesn’t even stop to pick them up, instead running out of the room. “We gotta get those kids.”

It’s apparent just how desperate the situation is that Sam doesn’t even stop to pick up the books, but follows Dean out of the room. They’re in the car in five minutes, Dean speeding with little regard for the law.

“Do we know how to kill the pied piper?” Dean asks when they’re well on their way.

“Honestly? I’m not entirely sure,” Sam admits. This hunt has been poorly executed. Not well planned, with them jumping into things without looking first. Losing Cas has been a blow to the Winchesters in more ways than Sam originally anticipated. “I think, though, from all the accounts I’ve read, he’s just a man.”

“Who can lead kids away from their homes?”

Sam shrugs, “Ordinary people can do magic. You should know that by now.”

“It’s always the humans that are the sickest,” Dean mutters, pushing still harder on the gas pedal.

Midnight is falling by the time they reach the warehouse, the tiny town lit only by the waxing moon which shines brightly overhead. Properly equipped with knives, holy water and guns, the Winchesters make their way to the business. The old door comes down in a single solid kick. “Smells awful in here,” Dean grumbles as they make their way inside.

The lobby is empty, as is the hallway. The door to the storage room is locked, but unlike the entrance, this one is built far more sturdily. Nothing a set of lockpicks couldn't fix, though. Sam can tell Dean is antsy, his gaze flicking up and down the hallway while Sam works the lock. While Sam does make good time getting through the lock, he can tell it’s not nearly fast enough for Dean.

Sam huffs a breath of relief to see the storage room is also empty. They make their way to the hatch, which is also locked. 

“Stand aside,” Dean announces, pointing his pistol at the lock.

“Stop!” Sam hisses, “If we’re right, there are kids down there. We’re not shooting down at them.”

It’s hard to tell in the dim moonlight, but Dean looks properly chastised, moving to aim his gun out the door as Sam works to unlock the padlock. This one takes longer, Dean muttering under his breath while Sam carefully fiddles with the lock. 

“Got it!” Sam breathes as the lock slides open. For once, things are starting to go their way. They’ve gotten in without a hitch. He opens the trapdoor carefully, flicking on his flashlight to reveal...kids. Tons of them. Many look like they are starving. They all look scared, most barefoot and clad in pajamas. There’s a variety of ages, some looking to be as young as two or three. They cry out when the light hits them.

“It’s okay,” Sam says, carefully lowering himself down into the room. He kneels in front of one girl who looks to be the oldest of the group, around 11 or 12, who stands protectively in front of the other children, “My brother and I are here to get you out.”

Dean lowers himself down into the room as well. “We should probably hurry,” he says. They start to lift children out of the room. It’s difficult work, only as there are probably around 25 children crammed into the room.

“What’s your name?” Sam asks the older girl.

“Casey.”

“Look, Casey,” Sam says as he picks up a younger child to pass to Dean, “I’m going to lift you up next. I need you to watch out for all the other kids, okay?”

She nods, her face far more grown up than a child’s should be. Sam’s heart feels heavy as he lifts the girl out. The rest of the children are relatively quiet, only the occasional whimper or sniffle. Things are going well, far too well, and Sam can’t help but wonder if their luck will run out.

He knows it has when he hears a shrill scream from above.

“Hmm, looks like I’ve got a few more  _ rats _ in here,” an oily voice announces, revealing none other than the pied piper himself. He grins wickedly down at Dean and Sam.

They both freeze, Dean’s got a child no older than 5 in his arms. “I’d love to stay...but first I’d better show you  _ exactly _ what happens to rats in my business.” He pulls a thin wooden pipe from a jacket pocket, blowing a few notes into it. There’s a moment of silence then...growls.

The few children still inside the basement look positively rabid, eyes almost murderous. The child in Dean’s arms suddenly launches himself at Dean, biting down on his neck.

“ _ Shit!”  _ Dean shouts. In another situation, Sam might remind him about language in front of children, but now isn’t the time. Dean pushes the kid off him, but the others are running towards the Winchesters. This is quite possibly one of the worst situations to be in, they can’t exactly kill the kids, but..damn.

“I’ll hold off the kids, Dean,” Sam says, figuring his size alone might be an advantage, “You catch the piper!”

Dean nods, scrambling out of the basement. He pauses just a moment to help Sam out as well, who slams the door shut on the remaining children inside. A small victory, as the room above is  _ full _ of kids. “Go, Dean!”

Dean runs out of the room, pursued by only a few children as Sam shouts. “Hey! Over here!”

The kids turn on him, eyes wild. Some of the older ones have enough thought to arm themselves with various plastic bottles of chemicals, which they take to whacking Sam with. The younger ones use themselves as weapons, biting and scratching wherever possible. It’s delicate work on Sam’s end, trying to fend off blows while knocking the kids out in the softest way possible. 

“Casey, please!” Sam finds himself pleading. He’s only knocked out a couple of kids and the rest are starting to back him into a corner. Sam’s mostly afraid of giving them permanent damage, though now slightly worried about his own life as well. The begging does nothing, only backs Sam up against a shelf of sprayers.

Sprayers…

Sam grabs one, prays it isn’t too toxic, and fumbles with the trigger. A white spray emits with a loud  _ wsshhhhhhhh _ and the kids, startled, back away. It gives Sam his chance, dropping the equipment and sprinting to the door.

He gets there just in time to slam it shut. The banging starts moments later. One kid might not be able to budge the door, but ten or fifteen rabid kids? Sam isn’t sure. He can hear sounds of a scuffle in the lobby, but he doesn’t dare leave the door. Even if he wasn’t hurt by the kids, they could get caught in the crossfire of the Dean’s fight with the piper.

Sam hears Dean cry out, the piper’s laughter. He hears the hint of a high pitched whine and then a loud thud. “DEAN,” Sam shouts, fearing the worst.

Silence. 

Wait.  _ Silence _ . The banging on the door has stopped. 

Assuming it’s safe to leave, Sam sprints away from the door to the lobby, where he sees Dean standing, looking slightly out of it, and the Pied Piper with a blade in his gut. Relief surges through Sam’s veins at the sight of his brother, though slightly worse for wear, most definitely alive. “You did it!”

Dean, however, looks confused, eyes scanning the room like he’s looking for something.

“Dean?”

His brother’s eyes flick up to him and Sam can see Dean trying to compartmentalize whatever emotion he’d been feeling. “We did it,” he says wearily. “The kids okay?”

Sam nods, “I think so.” 

_ Okay _ is kind of pushing it. They tentatively open the door to see the kids looking even more scared than before. A few lay knocked out, and Casey is trying to care for them. Dean calls 911 while Sam fishes the rest out of the basement. They don’t leave the kids until they can see ambulance lights in the distance.

“Is he gonna come back?” Casey asks, tugging on Sam’s sleeve as he’s about to leave.

Sam smiles softly, shaking his head. “You’re safe now, okay? The police are gonna get you back to your parents.”

She nods, attempting a tentative smile, waving as Sam and Dean leave. They don’t want to be there when the cops come. Too much to explain.

They’re well on the road when Sam speaks. “You okay, man?”

“What?”

Sam shifts uncomfortably. “You looked a little...out of it after that fight.”

Dean licks his lips, clearly struggling with whether or not to say anything. Finally, his eyes fixed intensely on the dark open road, he sighs. “The piper got the jump on me. Been around for a while, I don’t think we were the first hunters to go after him.”

This is unlike Dean, who is usually more on top of things strategically than Sam is. Sam frowns. “So, bad fight?”

Dean shakes his head. “It’s not that. I’ve been in bad scuffles before. But, uh...this time was weird.”

“How?”

Sam watches his brother, confused as to what on earth could be so strange about this fight.    
Dean sucks in his cheeks for a moment, then exhales. “I know it sounds impossible but...Cas saved me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is late! Things have been getting crazy as I get ready to graduate college. (In a related note, if any of you reading this are looking to hire, I'm looking to BE hired) Still, I promise I'll try to crank out at least one chapter a week for all y'all. Thanks for your patience! I hope you're enjoying this so far!


	5. Chasing Ghosts

_ He first sees Cas laying on the floor in the lobby. Dean knows he should be used to it, he’s seen Cas broken and bloody so often it sometimes feels as familiar as his own reflection. But something about  _ **_this_ ** _ sight feels even more real. Cas stirs, struggling to sit up. Dean can’t help, though, as the pied piper slashes at him with a knife. _

“Dean, that’s not possible,” Sam’s voice pulls Dean back into reality. Hands on the wheel, car speeding down the empty highway; now is not the time for Dean to space out. “Cas is gone.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Dean retorts, “All Crowley said was that he disappeared. There’s a difference.”

“Dean…” Sam’s voice is taking on his signature pitying lilt. The one he uses to break the news to survivors that their loved ones have died.

“It was him,” Dean insists.

_ The sight of Cas is enough of a distraction for the piper to get a jump on him. A well timed hit sends Dean’s knife flying out of his hand. Another slash opens up the skin on his right forearm, blood dripping down. Dean glances back at Cas, still on the floor, and sends a punch flying at the pied piper, terrified if he didn’t keep the man distracted, that he’d turn on Cas. _

“...and haven’t been sleeping well,” Sam’s voice has taken on a lecturing tone, his brown eyes gazing worriedly at Dean, “You haven’t had time to mourn.”

“Cas. Isn’t. Dead,” Dean mutters with gritted teeth.

“I know,” Sam tries to backpedal, reaching out to turn down the Beatles cassette, which they put on replay. “But as far as we know, he’s in no position to help you.”

“He found a way,” Dean insists, “He always does.”

_ This is the worst Dean’s fought in a while, his punches are wild and easy to dodge, his motion is predictable. The man has him on the ground in minutes.  _

_ “Dean…” Cas’ voice is a croak. Dean’s breath catches in his throat as he sees his friend, battered and bloody, crawling on the floor towards the knife that Dean had dropped earlier. There’s little time to process this, however, as the man crouches down, punching Dean hard in the face. _

“You need to take time to process this,” Sam’s voice is growing heated, “That guy got the jump on you and it’s just because you were spacing out!”

“Oh, so you can stay up and worry about Cas, but I can’t?” Dean doesn’t mean to lash out, but he’s tired and scared and confused. He doesn’t want to admit that Sam might be right.

He might have just imagined Cas.

_ “I’ll kill him, you know…” the man, “After I kill you…” _

_ Dean cries out and then suddenly the man pitches forwards. His eyes are wide and Dean can see the tip of a blade jutting out from his gut. He scrambles away as the pied piper falls to the floor, dead. Cas stands above him, breathing heavily. It’s clearly taking all his effort to remain standing. “Dean…” the angel croaks again, eyes pleading. _

“I’m worried about both of you,” Sam says, “I know Cas is missing and I know how stressful that is, but you’re letting it tear you apart.”

“Wouldn’t you?” The question comes out of Dean before he can stop it, voice ragged, “After everything I did to him?”

The answer hangs in the air for a moment, weighing down on both of them. Yet another instance of guilt for the Winchesters to carry. Always seems like they have an excess of that.

Sam sighs. “Letting it destroy you isn’t going to help Cas.”

_ All the words Dean wants to say get caught up in his throat. He’s feeling everything at once: joy at Castiel’s return, confusion as to how, worry for Cas’ poor health, fear of what will come next. Cas’ hand is outstretched and Dean’s just barely able to brush against it. Just enough to register that he is  _ **_real_ ** _ , Cas is really there. _

_ “Dean!” Sam’s shout tugs Dean’s attention away for a split second and when he looks back, Cas is gone. No explanation, no flap of wings, just...one moment Cas is by his side, the next it’s like Cas has dissolved into the darkness. _

“He was there,” Dean replies stubbornly, “He saved me.”

“How?” Sam’s tone isn’t subtle, it’s clear he’s only humoring Dean.

“He killed the pied piper. Took my knife and--”

“Stop it, Dean,” Sam’s sounding worried now, “ _ You _ killed the pied piper, not Cas. Cas wasn’t there.”

“You weren’t in the room with me,” Dean’s defensive, clinging to the recent memories of Castiel. Trying to hold onto that brief touch. That touch, more than anything else, was proof that Cas had been there with him. “You can’t say he wasn’t there.”

“Dean.” Sam’s voice is brittle, his arms crossed tightly across his chest.

Dean clamps his mouth shut, jaw muscles strained as he glowers at the empty road. There’s a tiny part of him that wishes something would happen: a deer darting into their path, or a car swerving into their lane...anything sudden and violent that could tear his mind away from the dark thoughts swirling in his head.

They drive in silence. It’s a typical Winchester technique, avoiding impending fights with pointed quiet. Of course, in this particular fight, both Winchesters know they’d be facing facts they didn’t want to face. For Dean it was the possibility that Sam was right, that he’d only imagined Cas. For Sam, it was the opposite, that Cas was in fact still alive and using the little power he had not to save himself, but to help the Winchesters.

As he pulls into the garage of the Bunker, Dean glances over to note that Sam is asleep, head lolled to one side. He’s snoring softly. Dean smiles, turning off the car and allowing himself a moment to take in the sight of Sam looking so peaceful. The lines that often crease Sam’s forehead are smoothed away, his muscles relaxed in a way they never are in the waking hours.

Dean feels a twinge of guilt at fighting with his brother. Sam’s just as worried about Castiel as he is, he’s just always been better at channeling his emotions than Dean has. Dean decides to drop the subject of seeing Cas in that warehouse. Not because he doesn’t think it didn’t happen (Sam didn’t feel Cas’ fingers brush up against his own) but because it’s only scaring Sam. And his little (well, younger) brother already had too much of the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He watches Sam’s chest rise and fall for another moment before reaching out to gently nudge his brother’s shoulder. “We’re home, bitch.”

Sam stirs, shifting to look up at Dean with sleep-streaked eyes. “Jerk,” he mumbles, “That seat is comfortable.”

Dean chuckles, getting out of the car and walking around to open Sam’s door. “Don’t make you carry you into bed. You’re not as light as you were when you were 7.”

Sam huffs a laugh, rubbing his eyes with his hand. “You couldn’t carry me in if you  _ tried. _ ”

“Oh, you’re on.”

And Dean’s trying to pull Sam out of the Impala, struggling with the massive tangle of arms and and legs that is Sam. “Ooof, someone’s gotta lay off the salads,” Dean mutters, pulling Sam into a half-assed fireman’s carry. Sam starts laughing, only making it more difficult for Dean to stay upright. 

“C’mon, Deaan, I thought you were better than this!”

“Shut up! Half the challenge with you is your freakishly long legs.”

“Or your weak ass muscles.”

“Sam! Quit it! Your hair is in my face!”

They end up collapsing in a heap in the hallway by the kitchen, Sam still half on top of Dean. They’re both laughing now, stomachs heaving and deep voices echoing down the dark, empty rooms of the Bunker. And then all at once, the weight of everything--what they’ve faced, what they’re facing--hits Dean and the laughter turns to crying. Dean’s not even sure what’s going on, his stomach still heaving like he’s laughing, but now there are salty tears running down his face and his breath is coming in and out between laughs (sobs?).

Sam’s laughter subsides quickly as he pulls Dean into his chest. 

“What the  _ hell _ is happening to me?” Dean’s choking out.

“I think you’re starting to mourn,” Sam replies wisely. Dean simply continues to cry, breath still hissing in and out in gasps. “I did the same thing a couple nights ago,” Sam adds, just in case.

Dean pulls away, face smeared with tears and eyes rimmed in red. “Why didn’t I--”

Sam looks away. “Winchester rule,” he mumbles, “Y’know, no chick flick moments.”

He awkwardly pats Dean’s back, Dean sniffling as the words hang over them. Then Dean’s pulling Sam into an equally tight hug, squeezing his brother to his chest. “You ever think we should consider changin’ that rule?” Dean asks gruffly. He doesn’t want to think about all the times that Sam has cried alone like this.

“What would we do instead?” Sam’s voice is oddly strained now, like he’s starting to get teary again, “We’ve never done anything but bottle it up.”

Dean chuckles softly, his breath starting to settle back into a more normal rhythm. “We’ve faced the Devil, the King of Hell and Cain himself. I think we can handle some chick flick shit.” He sighs into Sam’s shoulder.

Sam huffs a laugh in response before falling silent for a moment, hands tightening their hold on Dean’s shirt. “I miss him too, you know. I keep thinking...it’s just a matter of time till he walks through the door again. Like he’s just been settling things in Heaven and he’s come back for good…”

There’s a quiet pause, the hum of the electronics in the Bunkers filling the space with comfortless white noise.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Dean whispers, voice trembling slightly, “Cas disappearing of his own free will and choosing not to come home, or Cas not being able to come home…”

His eyes fill with tears again.

“Okay,” Sam murmurs, pulling away to stand. He crouches slightly to help pull Dean up as well, “We’ve chick flicked tonight more than we ever have. You need to sleep.”

Dean allows himself to be lead into his bedroom. He practically falls onto his bed and Sam groans, squatting to pull of Dean’s shoes. “You need to sleep too,” Dean orders. Sam nods, leaving Dean alone in his bedroom.

He doesn’t even try to change, even knowing full well there’s dried blood on his t-shirt. Dean just closes his eyes and waits for sleep to overtake the aching emotions that accompany him during the waking hours.

Sleep comes quickly and the nightmares follow. 

At first it’s the usual. One where he watches himself chase Sam around the Bunker with a hammer, powerless to stop his demonic self from pounding Sam’s skull in. Another where he’s watching as he beats the shit out of Cas, plunging the angel blade into his friend’s chest without an ounce of remorse.

The sharp scent of sulfur alerts Dean to what he figures will be the next of his many tortures: reliving Hell. He’s had this nightmare too many times to count, he’s probably watched himself torture everyone he’s ever loved, remotely worried about, or even met. It’s not just Sam or Cas, it’s Kevin and Charlie, it’s Jodi and Claire. 

But as the flames start to lick the library, the world goes black.

Dean shivers, scared of what this sort of shift is going to imply. He looks around, but can’t find anything to catch his bearings. The strange setting feels familiar to the dream he had a couple nights ago...which means…

“Dean?”

His heart leaps into his chest as Dean hears the voice. It’s hoarse and desperate and gravelly; Dean whirls around where he stands, trying to catch a glimpse of the source.

And suddenly, there he is. Castiel. This time his wounds are cured, but his eyes looked even more lined with exhaustion than usual and his face sports thick stubble. Gone are his normal suit and trench-coat, replaced with a ragged red hoodie and jeans.

Human Cas.

It’s unusual, Dean hasn’t dreamed about human Cas in a while, but he doesn’t have time to ruminate on the symbolism of his subconscious hailing of this particular version of Castiel. Largely because Cas has got a grip on Dean’s shirt, his blue eyes swimming in desperation.

“Dean, how are you here?”

Where? Dean blinks, looking around. He’s heard this line from Cas before, but the dream typically includes a more normal location. The Gas-n-Sip where Cas used to work. A random motel. The more sinister dreams usually involved finding Cas in a back alley somewhere, one particularly awful nightmare even included finding Cas selling himself on a street corner...but for now  _ here _ doesn’t seem to exist. It’s so dark and empty, like a blank slate.

“Cas…” Dean has too many things to say, the words all getting caught in his throat.

Castiel looks around, as if something has been chasing him. “You won’t stay, will you?”

“What?”

Cas smiles sadly. “You never stay. Every time I find you, you never…”

He looks down, lost in some awful thought that Dean’s sure has something to do with the fact he’s abandoned Cas more times than he wants to admit.

“Cas,” Dean repeats, voice hoarse, “Cas, if this is you, you gotta--”

Cas chuckles, but it’s without humor. His blue eyes lock on Dean’s and Dean’s aware of the familiar sensation of the ancient being staring into his very soul. Even human, apparently, Cas manages to have this effect on Dean. “I can’t do anything for you. Not anymore.”

Confusion flickers across Dean’s face. What did Cas mean by that? What sort of dream was this, anyway? He can’t help but feel a twinge of guilt, though, at Cas’ immediate assumption that Dean wanted to  _ use _ him for something. Dean reaches up to put a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “You gotta come home,” Dean insists.

“Can’t…” Cas’ face takes on a strange expression, one that is oddly distant. There is a rumbling in the distance, like thunder, and Cas releases Dean’s shirt, stepping back. “It’s coming to take you away.”

“Take me away? What are you talking about, Cas?” Dean grabs Cas by the wrist and is shocked as Cas tries to pull away. 

“Don’t say anything, Dean,” Cas’ face is full of pain, “Please, don’t say anything else before you disappear.”

_ What? _ Nothing makes sense. Dean can feel his heart rate increasing, a sheer panic rising at the thought that he can’t lose Cas again. “You gotta come home,” Dean repeats again, voice desperate.

“You have everything from me that you’ll need,” Cas insists. Black smoke has started to swirl around them. Dean’s all but frozen in place, reaching for Cas as the smoke starts to obscure him from view. “The room…far left door...end of hall..”

And then the world is black and Castiel is gone. 

Dean jerks awake in a cold sweat. In contrast to the dream, the room is well light, despite the fact it is still the middle of the night. He checks the clock to see it’s 3:47 AM. Dean shivers in bed; he hadn’t bothered with any of the blankets before falling asleep.

He’s had nightmares before. Hell, it’s more surprising if he makes it through a night without them. But something about this one leaves Dean with the faintest hint of a suspicion that there is more at work. The strange juxtaposition, for one, and Cas’ confusing words.

_ What was it about some random room? _

This, more than anything else, will be the determinant of whether or not Dean places anymore stock on this strange dream of his. He’s thanking his lucky stars that he woke up in the middle of the night. If this whole thing turns out to be a bust, at least Sam doesn’t have to know.

Of course Sam happens to be in the hallway when Dean pokes his head out.

“What are you doing?” Sam’s hair is sporting some fantastic bedhead. He yawns.

“Uh...bathroom run.” 

“Bullshit. I heard you in there.”

Dean sighs, not wanting to discuss it quite yet. “You can’t sleep either?”

Sam shakes his head. “Wanted to check in on you before I got some tea. You, uh, wanna join me?”

It’s tempting. It’s also tempting to refuse the offer and check out the room on his own while Sam makes himself tea. But now that Dean knows that Sam is awake, it feels almost like going behind his brother’s back to check out the room without him.

“Not right now…” Dean looks at his socks, dreading what happens next, “I, uh, had a dream about Cas.”

“Same.”

“No, this one was weird. Sam, he, uh...he told me about a room in the Bunker.” 

Even in the near dark, Dean can see Sam’s brow furrow. Of course Sam would think he’s crazy. To Sam’s credit, however, nothing was said aside from: “Guess we should probably check it out, huh?”

Dean nods, relieved Sam isn’t making as big a deal about it as he could. They wander down the darkened hallway, past plenty of doors until they reach the door Cas had mentioned. Heart pounding, Dean twists the handle and tentatively pushes the door open. He almost doesn’t want to look at what’s inside.

Sam does it for him, walking inside and flipping on a switch. A dim light flickers to life and illuminates the room.

The first thing Dean notices is just how  _ small _ the room is; it’s gotta be half the size of his. It’s not furnished well, either. There’s a nightstand and rickety chair in one corner. In the other is a pile of pathetic looking bedding: a pillow that looks so flattened it’s all but useless, dirty and threadbare sheets and a quilt that’s riddled with holes. There’s no mattress, not even a cot. Dean’s heart sinks as he realizes that this must be Cas’  _ bed _ . This, of all things, was the treatment Cas assumed he deserved.

“There’s stuff in here,” Sam announces. He’s been in the other corner, poking around the old nightstand. Dean makes his way into the room to hover over Sam’s shoulder. The top drawer has a few old socks in it. All of them, Dean notes, have holes. There’s also a few pairs of worn underwear and a dirty t-shirt. 

If he isn’t feeling sick before, he is when they reach the second drawer. Sam pulls out a small handwritten note. 

“For Sam and Dean.”

There are vials of blood. Feathers bound carefully with string. Two little glasses that seem to hold the faintest traces of grace. A couple angel blades. And pages of lined notebook paper with handwritten instructions for how to use all of the ingredients. Spells, sigils and potions, all written in Cas’ neat hand. The final page includes a small note: 

“In case I am no longer of use.”

Bile rises in Dean’s throat. “Is this what he thinks we want him for? To use him as some kind of walking apothecary?”

“I never thought...I mean, I know we leaned on him…” Sam’s voice is wavering, “But I always thought he knew that we... _ damn _ …”

“This is  _ his _ room,” Dean’s voice rises, “And not only is it the shittiest thing I’ve ever seen, he’s  _ still _ devoting a portion of it to  _ us! _ ”

Without thinking, he hurls one of the vials of blood, which smashes against the floor. Red liquid oozes everywhere and Dean’s tempted to run his hands through it. To smear the blood on his skin because that’s  _ Cas _ and at least they’ll be close…

“Dean…” Sam’s softness pulls him back in, “There’s still one more drawer.”

Dean knows what his brother is implying in that statement.  _ Do you think you can stay calm through another drawer? _

“The blood...gotta clean it up…”

“We’ll do that next,” Sam says softly, “But I’d rather only clean once.”

_ “You might break something else if you see what’s in the final drawer _ ” is what Sam means, they both know it. But Dean’s too tired to argue, so he simply nods. 

Carefully, Sam closes the drawer of Cas’ ingredients and opens the bottom one. “Oh….” his voice hitches in his throat and Dean’s curiosity can’t stand it any longer.

Most of the drawer is full of what looks like junk: Bottle caps, a creased paycheck with the Gas-n-Sip logo, a dried marigold, a mangled strip of leather. There are also two packages wrapped clumsily in newspaper. One has “Dean” written across the top, the other has “Sam.”

“Gifts?” Dean squeaks.

He knows he shouldn’t be touching it. Castiel has kept them hidden away for a reason, but Dean can’t help it, reaching into the drawer to pull out the gift with his name on it. Sam doesn’t even say a word, in fact, he pulls out his own gift.

Dean nearly jumps at the sound of Sam tearing into his gift. The newspaper falls away, but whatever Sam’s got is obscured by Sam’s back. There’s a soft “Oh, Cas…” from Sam and Dean finds himself tugging on Sam’s sleeve to see what it is.

“He knows I like books,” Sam says, eyes swimming with tears. He holds up the gift, a hardbound picture book titled  _ Yellowstone Moose _ . It’s goofy, and pointless and just so  _ Cas _ that Dean feels himself getting choked up as well. 

It’s at that moment that Dean decides he’s not going to open up his own gift. Not until Cas is there to give it to him. As he moves to return the present to the drawer, however, a simple lined notebook sitting at the bottom of the drawer catches Dean’s eye. He pulls it out, noting how worn and water damaged the green cover appears.

Dean’s got a hunch of what it is, but his heart still begins to pound as he reads the inscription on the cover. 

_ Castiel’s Recollection _

He shouldn’t be reading this. He absolutely shouldn’t be reading this. Especially when Dean opens to the front page and realizes the first line simply reads “In case I die before the Winchesters” and suddenly Dean can’t breathe. 

His gift falls to the floor with a thump and Dean’s body follows, his knees crashing into the ground. The notebook slips from his fingers. 

“Dean!” Sam’s voice sounds far away. Which is strange, because Sam’s standing over him. Dean’s still struggling to breathe, though, and the corners of the room has strangely started to turn to darkness. “Dean, stay awake! Breathe.”

His fingers are trembling and his heart is racing and Dean can’t for the life of him figure out what is going so wrong. So much is racing through his mind at once. “Dean,” Sam’s voice is firm, “I need you to breathe.”

Dean tries to obey, pushing all his focus into trying to move air in and out of his lungs. It’s a struggle, but slowly it grows easier. The darkness fades from his vision. As soon as Dean’s regained better control, he’s scooping the journal and the gift back into his arms. “What...what spell was that?” Dean croaks finally.

“I don’t think that was a spell,” Sam replies softly, “Looked more like a panic attack.”

Oh.

Dean wants to retort with something about how that’s silly, or pointless, or dumb. But...Sam might have a point. Especially because Dean almost passed out over a damn  _ journal _ . Besides, they had promised to do more of these chick flick moments. 

He settles with simply not addressing the issues. “I hate this damn room.”

There’s still blood on the floor from where Dean threw the vial. The sad thing is, even without the blood, this still looks like the sort of place someone would get murdered in.

“When Cas gets back, we’ll get him a better room,” Sam replies, “We’ll move all his treasures into his new room so it still feels like home, but he’ll have a bed and a little television…”

“A painting,” Dean adds, “Cas likes colors.”

Sam nods. “Then we’ll find him a painting. And buy him the most colorful sheets we can find.”

_ But would that be enough to convince Cas to stay? _

Dean looks down at the journal in his hands. Was this what the dream Castiel wanted him to find? Would the book help lead them to the angel? As much as it scares him, Dean feels like he’s going to need to read it.

“But for now,” Sam’s gentle as he guides Dean out of the room. Dean notices Sam’s got his picture book tucked under his arm for safekeeping. Dean was planning on leaving his own present in Cas’ room, but he decides he’ll keep it safe too. It’ll wait in his room until Cas came back. “We gotta get some real sleep.”

Dean snorts. “Since when do we get real sleep?”

“Since you’ve been an emotional wreck,” Sam replies sagely. “I don’t want to see you until at  _ least _ 9 AM.”

“Same goes for you, mom.”

Sam just chuckles. “About time I take over that job. You’ve been doing it for too long.”

Dean retorts by sticking out his tongue at Sam.

“Real mature,” Sam sighs as they reach Dean’s room. He shepherds Dean inside, barring the doorway, “Please actually  _ sleep _ while you’re in here, okay?”

Damn. Sam knows him too well. Dean sighs. “Fine.”

“Night.”

And then Sam’s gone, leaving Dean alone.

The first thing Dean does is carefully put the clumsily wrapped gift onto his shelf, right next to the picture of his mom. It’s strange how the gift doesn’t seem to look out of place at all. The next thing he does is switch on the lamp next to his bed. If they’re going to find Cas, they might as well get started now. Besides, if the journal triggered another attack, at least he’d deal with it in the privacy of his own bedroom.

He sits, ensuring he’s comfortable before taking a deep breath and flipping the notebook open again.

_ Entry 1: _

_ In case I die before the Winchesters, I have written things in this notebook for them. Humanity is a fragile thing, far more fragile than I could have anticipated, and I fear now that death is an option that looms around every corner.  _

_ I confided these fears to Nora, she is my supervisor at the Gas-N-Sip where I am currently employed, and she suggested a journal. She says writing my thoughts down for my family might help ease some of my fears. _

_ My family does not want me. The angels are all furious at me. Of course, my foolishness and pride has caused them much pain, so I cannot really argue they are incorrect in their disdain of me.  _

_ Ironically, it is these same foibles, the very things that were making me human before I even lost my grace, that caused the Winchesters to turn me away as well. I had hoped we could be family, but I realize now that such a thing could not happen, not with me in the state I am in. I am too weak to be of use to them. _

_ Still, I hope this notebook will be of use to them. If nothing else, it will be an account of my attempts to redeem myself in their eyes. I will be the best human I can be. And if I’m lucky and regain my grace, I will be the best angel I can, so good that I will be able to face them in good standing once again. _

There is no panic attack, not this time, but sorrow has crept over Dean like a thick blanket, weighing down his shoulders. Dean can pretend he understands what Castiel endured, but truth be told, Dean’s had the luxury of rarely being alone. There were a few days when Dad was missing, a few more when he made Sam split up with him….but aside from short bursts, Dean has never really been alone.

But Cas...at his most vulnerable, at his most broken...he’d felt completely and utterly alone. Unwanted. Dean’s stomach twists at the thought. 

_ Entry 2: _

_ The Winchesters truly are admirable. What I did not anticipate with a human body was how much needs to be done to keep it working properly. It must be fed and watered. Must be emptied on a regular basis. It needs to rest and recuperate energy. I feel like I’m always forgetting at least one of these steps. I once wet myself during work because I’d ignored the strange warning sensation of impending urination. There is, I’ve learned, no good explanation for why one’s pants are wet. Or why you can’t change them. (Humans react poorly when you tell them you only have one pair of clothes). _

This would be a funny entry if it hadn’t been so depressing. Dean knows that this is the sort of stuff Cas never would have confided in Dean about. Likely because he feared Dean’s mockery. And it’s true, Dean knows he likely would have made fun of Cas for wetting his pants. Only now, in retrospect, can Dean see the angel’s perspective. 

And yet Cas, despite feeling incredibly foolish for his missteps in the human form, begins the entry by praising the Winchesters.

Dean wonders if the rest of the journal is like this. Entry after entry of Castiel being hopelessly broken, entry after entry with him all but worshipping Dean and Sam.  _ How could I not know about any of this? _ Dean berates himself. 

The world feels heavy. The task at hand, saving Castiel, seems worlds away. Still, despite the guilt Dean's feeling over not being able to save Castiel (both then and now), he can't help but think about how if Cas was here now, he'd be insisting Dean rested to "recharge his body." Stupid, selfless angel.

  
Dean falls back asleep with the journal clutched in his hands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so so much for all the kudos and comments! They are the most heartening things to get and it really helps me stay motivated to keep cranking out more content. I'm also gonna apologize in advance if the next couple chapters take a bit of time to get to you. I'm graduating college in two weeks (yikes!) and trying to get my life in order.


	6. Traces Are Not Enough

The shrill buzz of the alarm pulls Sam from his slumber. His large, calloused hand flops around the nightstand in search of the off button. With the alarm silenced, Sam lays in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Dim memories tug at his mind, of he and Dean finding Castiel’s secret room, but it’s hazy...he’s not sure if this is a recollection or merely the remnants of a bad dream.

A glance at  _ Yellowstone Moose _ , which sits prominently on his desk, is enough to answer that question. The guilt sinks back into Sam’s system moments later, settling into his stomach like a storm. That won’t do. Sam knows from experience how crippling guilt can be.

He pushes out of bed. It’s still dark outside, but Sam knows his way around the bedroom out of habit by now. What a strange thing, habit. Sam shuffles to the laundry basket, scooping out a worn t-shirt and shorts. He then laces his tennis shoes in a matter of seconds, something Sam’s learned to do from his years of having to run out the door at a moment’s notice on a hunt.

Habit, it seems, can come from both good and bad sources.

The sun peeks out from the horizon line, making the flat landscape a dusky pink. Sam stretches before taking off on a jog, enjoying the slow movements of his body and the relaxing sunrise that accompanies it. Before long, he’s ready to run, taking off with a burst of reasonable speed. With every pounding footfall, Sam imagines shaking off the guilt weighing on him. Guilt only clouds his judgement, paralyzes his actions...Sam will feel guilty, he intends to feel guilty, but he can’t allow himself that luxury until Castiel is safe and sound and the Darkness, whatever it is, is proven not to be a threat.

It takes longer than usual for Sam to fall into a rhythm. It’s usually easy, his steps lining up with his breathing and the world falling away as he just runs. But today it’s a struggle to allow himself to slip into this world. And when he finally does...he’s pulled right out.

There’s a person on his running path. Lawrence isn’t a big place and Sam’s run this route enough to be confident that nobody runs it but him. And yet someone’s there. A man in a business suit, holding a briefcase and looking very out of place in the sprawling farmland. The man’s face contorts when he sees Sam, something akin to suspicion, and he sniffs loudly.

Still, weird as it is, the man doesn’t look like he’s armed. Sam picks up his pace and thankfully he isn’t followed. What can be said for the incident is that it’s at least enough to take Sam’s mind off the whole Castiel situation.

Sam’s mind drifts blissfully to his domestic fantasy of owning a real house (not an underground Bunker, a house above ground with a porch and full sized windows) and a dog, maybe even a wife and kids. Truth be told, Sam likes to run in part because he can pretend he’s just going on a jog before coming home to help make breakfast for the kids before heading to work.

Today would be school picture day. His wife, struggling to get their kids (Mary and Kevin) looking put together, would scold Sam for scooping Mary into his arms and spinning her around, insisting it’s messing up Mary’s half-finished braids. Which would mean Sam would have to scoop his wife into his arms, spinning  _ her _ until she laughed.

It’s a silly fantasy, one Sam’s sure Dean would tease him mercilessly for if he ever heard about it, but it helps start Sam’s day off on a good note. 

The daydreaming, however, is cut short as Sam sees yet another person on his running trail.

The woman looks to be in her 30s, frizzy brown hair pulled into a loose braid. She’s still in her pajamas, a loose low-cut t-shirt and shorts. No shoes. Her movements are reminiscent of a sleepwalker, slow and swaying, but her eyes are sharp. Alert. As Sam approaches, she sniffs loudly.

“Demon…” she breathes out, voice low. 

“What?” Sam’s slowing down, though his instincts are screaming to run.

“Crowley.” Her eyes fall onto Sam and before he can react, she’s reaching a hand out, fingers coiling around his wrist with unexpected strength.

Sam looks down at her hand, then back to her face, which has taken on a strange red glow. A surge of panic rushes through him and he jerks away, though not before the outline of her hand had been left bruises on his wrist.

“Crowley,” she growls again, lunging for him.

Sam sprints in the opposite direction, kicking up dust. He doesn’t dare look back, air heaving from his lungs in short bursts. He’s already been running a while, so bumping the run to a sprint is a challenge. Thankfully, the adrenaline propels him forwards.

He reaches the Bunker in record time. Sam dry heaves as he skids to a stop, it’s been awhile since he’s run this hard. His eyes rove the empty fields, but if there’s anyone pursuing him, they’ve hidden themselves well. Sam’s instinct is that he got away; the lady who got ahold of him hadn’t exactly seemed interested in subtlety. 

Sam stumbles into the Bunker drenched in sweat, trying to control his breathing. He was  _ not _ going to wake Dean up over this. If Dean knew he’d been attacked on a run, Sam highly doubted he’d be allowed out of the Bunker. Not with everything else Dean was dealing with.

Instead, Sam busies himself with coming up with a casual way to bring up the creepy followers while he starts making breakfast. Dark grounds poured into the coffee machine, which heats up while Sam moves focus to scrambled eggs. He’s even slicing cheese into the mix, knowing full well Dean will be more receptive to the eggs with other, less healthy mix-ins. 

He checks for bacon, but there is none, no doubt not restocked after all the madness they’ve been through over the last several weeks. Sam makes a mental note to buy more bacon on the upcoming trip to Hastings, the nearby town where they could get most of their supplies. Today was also the day he’s decided to pick up the recliner for Crowley. Perhaps not the most enjoyable activity, but Sam hopes it will help their investigation along. A happy Crowley is more likely to cooperate.

Dean shuffles into the kitchen around 8 AM, sleepily reaching for the coffee maker.

“I thought I told you to sleep till 9,” Sam chides, though he grudgingly poured Dean a mug of coffee. Dean takes it appreciatively.

“Don’t see you sleeping till 9,” Dean replies, taking a sip of the coffee.

He has a point. Sam sighs, making his way to the pan of eggs, which has been warming on the stove. He shovels a hearty portion onto a plate for Dean before filling a second plate with an equal amount. This has always been one problem with Dean: he refuses to eat if Sam has a smaller portion. No argument or reasoning has ever seemed to fix it, Dean will never take a bite of his own food until he’s assured Sammy has enough (sometimes even more than enough). It was infuriating...but secretly Sam has always felt touched at the gesture.

“Too busy making breakfast,” Sam jokes, setting a plate in front of Dean, “Takes all morning just to feed you.”

“Bitch.”   


“Jerk.”

Dean flashes one of his old  _ devil may care _ grins at the exchange before digging into his meal. Sam relaxes. He’s in the clear, from the looks of it, and Dean might actually be cheering up slightly from the night before. In a case like this, baby steps are everything. 

“What’s that?”

Dean points his fork at Sam’s bruised wrist.  _ Shit _ . 

“Oh, you know,” Sam’s voice takes on a strange pitch as he tries to remain casual, “Accident with the stove.”

Dean frowns. “Last I checked, stoves don’t have hands.”

Sam slowly sets his fork down, trying to find a good way to break the news to Dean. “There was an...incident this morning on my run,” he finally says tentatively, bracing himself for his brother’s response.

“You were attacked?” Dean’s voice starts to rise.

“I mean...not  _ exactly _ .” 

It’s semantics and they both know it. Dean locks eyes with Sam and Sam can see the mixture of emotions whirling through the green eyes. 

“Let me get this straight,” Dean’s voice is dangerously calm, though it grows in volume, “You go out on a run, get  _ attacked _ and then think, oh, well, no point telling Dean. Might as well make  _ breakfast! _ ”

“I didn’t want you to worry!”

Dean slams his fork down, eggs scattering across the table. “Damn it, Sam!” he shouts, “As far as we can tell, something took Cas! And it might have taken you too--” Dean snaps his mouth shut and Sam can see his hands trembling, the fork clattering against the plate. 

A rush of guilt (it’s always guilt, isn’t it?) runs through Sam as he realizes what must be going through his brother’s head. Dean’s barely holding it together over Cas, but if he lost his brother too?

“I’ll be more careful,” Sam’s quiet, staring at his eggs, “But if it helps, the person…” he pauses, wondering if that description really works, “uh,  _ thing _ , I’m not quite sure what it was...I think it was after Crowley.”

“Crowley?”

Sam shrugs. “When it grabbed me, it said Crowley’s name. I think she  _ smelled _ him on me.”

Dean abruptly stands, sending the fork clattering to the floor. “Things are after Crowley?”

Before Sam can answer, Dean’s storming out of the kitchen. Sam hastily sets his fork down, jogging to catch up with his brother. Dean slams the door of the dungeon open, making his way to the demon and slamming Crowley’s face to the table before Crowley can get a word in edgewise. 

“ _ You son of a bitch!”  _ Dean roars.

“That’s a fact I won’t refute.” Crowley, despite being pressed to the table top, is still as snarky as ever. Sam rolls his eyes, knowing Crowley’s behavior won’t improve Dean’s mood.

“ _ You’re the reason Cas is missing!” _

“Woah!” Crowley tries to wriggle out of Dean’s grasp to no avail, “That’s something I’ll refute. Because it’s not true!”

“Your goons came after me today,” Sam says, holding up his burned wrist as proof.

Crowley’s eyes widen. “Shit,” he mutters, “They’re closer than I thought.”

“Care to explain?” Dean’s voice is harsh and guttural. 

“Maybe I’d feel more up to it if I could actually move my  _ bloody head! _ ” Crowley snaps back. Dean groans, whipping Crowley’s head back up with a sharp jerk. 

“Better,” Crowley sniffs, “A little diplomacy might get you boys a long way, you know.”

Sam tugs Dean off Crowley entirely, not interested in dealing with their bickering. He can feel Dean shaking in his grasp and wonders when the last time he’s seen Dean this worked up. It’s strange, how his unflappable older brother can become emotionally compromised. Then again, they did promise to work on talking to each other. Maybe, in some small way, the physical manifestations of unease were one of Dean’s ways of talking to Sam.

“Okay, you’re comfortable,” Sam snaps, “Now talk.”

Crowley leans back in his chair, chuckling, “You and I have  _ very _ different definitions of comfortable, Moose. Comfortable would include a certain armchair I’ve been promised.”

“Given the fact your people are patrolling outside the Bunker waiting to burn the life out of anyone who’s interacted with you? Not likely.”

“They’re not  _ my _ people!”

Dean barks a laugh, pulling up a chair. He straddles the seat, his arms hanging over the backrest. “Not yours, huh?”

“My people wouldn’t try to kill me,” Crowley replies briskly, “Those things are sent by my dear mother.”

Sam’s brow creases. This was not the answer he’d expected. “Rowena sent those?”

“ _ Yes! _ ” Crowley’s voice is emphatic. He even pounds the table with his fist, the little he’s able to move his arms. “Turns out that book you gave her is full of all sorts of nifty spells.”

“So...Cas?” Dean’s staring at Crowley with a strange expression. His fingers absentmindedly rub the smooth portion of his forearm where the Mark of Cain once resided.

“I told you, I don’t know what happened to the angel.”

“But you said Rowena cast the spell.”

Crowley sighs. “Do you have  _ any _ idea how boring it is to listen to you babble about your boyfriend--”

“--he’s  _ not _ my boyfriend!” But Dean’s shooting Sam the strangest look, one Sam can’t quite decipher.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Regardless, I’m sick of hearing about the angel. So, I’m telling you once and for all,  _ I don’t know what happened to Castiel _ . The spell finished and he went poof. That’s all I know. If it’s any consolation, though, Rowena looked just about as shocked as me.”

So Rowena wasn’t behind Castiel’s disappearance. This is bad news for the Winchesters. Rowena is a difficult enough foe, especially with the Book of the Damned helping back her extensive spell work. But at least she was human. Whatever took Cas...Sam is beginning to wonder more and more if it wasn’t human.

A tiny part of him wonders if it was God who took Castiel. God had, after all, made the Mark of Cain. Perhaps this was an eye for an eye. Removing the Mark required sacrifice. Would Cas have known?

_ Yes _ , Sam realizes weakly, the word coiling in his stomach like a snake. Castiel was an angel. One who’d already proven time and time again he was more than willing to throw himself under the bus for the Winchesters. If he’d known removing the Mark would have taken a sacrifice, Castiel would have made that sacrifice himself. No questions asked.

“So those things didn’t take Cas?” Dean’s starting to deflate, voice lowering and body sagging on the chair. 

Crowley sighs loudly. “If Rowena’s things are within walking distance, I’d say we’ve got more pressing problems than your missing angel.”

Sam might not want to admit it, but the demon has a point. “What do you know about them?”

Dean whirls around to glare at Sam, but Sam ignores it. Right now their only lead to any sort of answer on Cas seems to be Rowena. And, more pressingly, her cronies were after Crowley and could be anywhere. Dealing with this issue would be killing two birds with one stone.

“Professional opinion?” Crowley shrugs, “There seems to be some sort of possession involved.”

“How do you know?”

Crowley smirks, gesturing to himself. “Demon, remember? Kind of a pro at possessing the human form. And you can tell when someone’s been possessed.”

Sam runs a hand through his hair, pacing the room. “So, how can you tell?”

A deep chuckle emits from the other side of the room. “Doesn’t work like that, Moose. It’s more like one of the perks of being part of the exclusive demon club.”

“So what  _ can _ you do to help?” Dean snaps, “Because right now I’m not sure what’s keeping me from tossing you out to those possessed things.”

“I’m wounded. I thought we had a deeper bond than that,” Crowley drawls, grinning as Dean’s face contorts. “But you never know if a demon will be useful in tracking down that angel of yours.”

It’s clear to Sam that Crowley knows exactly where their weakness is. Dean’s especially, but Sam would be lying if he said he wasn’t willing to do almost anything to bring Castiel home. What scares him is that the King of Hell now knows exactly what buttons to push to manipulate the Winchesters. And Sam doesn’t know how easy it will be for them not to get caught up in one of his traps while trying to save Cas.

Dean looks like he’s just taken a large gulp of sour milk. “Bastard,” he mutters, but lets the subject drop.

Sam relaxes. With the fight out of Dean, the remainder of this unpleasant conversation with Crowley might at least go a little faster. 

It did go faster. But only because Crowley didn’t know anything.

Which means they’re back to research. 

“Stupid witch,” Dean mutters as he scopes through books in the library, “Stupid spell.”

Sam grins to himself as he peruses a nearby shelf. This is pretty par for course when it comes to Dean and research. He takes mysterious creatures they haven’t encountered before as a personal affront. Like the additional research added insult to injury.

“Stupid demons. Stupid possession. Stupid Cas.”

_ Oh _ . The grin fades, but Sam doesn’t say anything. What’s he supposed to say in this sort of situation? Instead, he focuses on trying to find out what sort of spell Rowena could be using, making a list of facts to calm his racing mind.

_ Fact 1: Crowley believes they are possessed. _

_ Fact 2: They seemed pretty singular in focus: find and destroy Crowley _

_ Fact 3: Not socially adjusted. _

_ Fact 4: Both beings sniffed the air when looking for Crowley. _

First things first, trying to figure out what possessed things. Demons and angels, obviously, though from Crowley’s description and Sam’s interaction, they didn’t seem to be either. 

“You think it might be a ghost?” Dean asks, looking up from one of the dusty books.

Sam blinks. That actually sounds possible. Except… “It doesn’t explain why they’re able to burn me. Or why they were sniffing the air.”

Dean chews his thumbnail. The edges look ragged, but Sam isn’t sure if that’s from stress or simply a side effect of hunting. He fears it’s the former.

“This is gonna sound stupid,” Dean says, “But...don’t dogs sniff the air? When they’re hunting something?”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up. “Are you saying--?”

“Ghost dogs,” Dean admits sheepishly, “Stupid theory, I know.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, instead racing back to retrieve his laptop. Fingertips racing, he made a quick Google search. “Got it!”

“You’re not taking my suggestion seriously, are you?”

Sam nods. “What you said reminded me of something I read a couple weeks ago.” He spins the laptop around to show Dean the headline.

_ Yellowstone Wolf Population Experiencing Unusual Drop _

Dean squints. “Wolf ghosts?”

“Why not?” Sam shrugs, “Rowena’s probably been planning an escape plan for as long as she’s had the book. It’s not out of the realm of possibilities she did this.  _ Especially _ because she must have known--”

“--that we’d be distracted.” Dean rubs his eyes with his palms, groaning, “Why does it seem like the guilt just keeps piling up?”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Bullshit.”

Of course, leave it to Dean to blame himself over the deaths of wolves. Dean would probably blame himself for the sun setting if he could.

Sam knows he shouldn’t be so critical. After all, losing Cas is a stressful thing. Especially with the way Dean last interacted with him. Really, they should talk things through. But doing that is exhausting and Dean doesn’t seem in any mood for a heart to heart.

Instead, Sam returns his focus to the case. “Anyway, if she had these ghosts, maybe there’s a way she could force them into the bodies. Wolves are good trackers and they’re  _ strong _ too…”

“Probably also doesn’t burn out the bodies like some of her other spells do,” Dean muses and Sam can’t help but feel a surge of pride for how clever his brother can be.

“So...working theory is ghost wolves?”

Dean nods. Sam makes a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh. “Always gotta be something weird, huh?” 

Dean huffs a laugh too, a small sign that their minor disagreement is already behind them. “How are we supposed to stop them?”

Sam rubs his hand along the spine of the book he’s holding. It’s a soothing habit, one he’s had since he was a kid. There’s always been something comforting about libraries. Maybe it’s the fact they were the one  _ normal _ thing he was regularly afforded as a child. Or because a library meant they weren’t fighting, at least not right then. 

“Maybe we don’t have to stop them.”

“Come again?”

It’s certainly not the best idea Sam has ever had. A risky, somewhat stupid plan, but one that might get them closer to Rowena than merely stopping her attack-dogs would. Sam gives the book one final stroke before looking Dean in the eyes.

“We find a way to follow them.”

“What’s that gonna do?”

“They’ve got to be interacting with her somehow, right?” Sam shrugs, “If nothing else, getting information, or maybe she has to power them up or something.”

“How do we know Rowena isn’t just using them to scare Crowley off?”

“He said they were getting closer, right?” Sam set the book down on the table, starting to pace, “That doesn’t make sense if it was just a quick attack to send him running, she’s trying to smoke him out.”

Dean grins. “You might actually be onto something. But how exactly do you suggest we prepare for something like this.”

Sam shrugs. “Figure out how to exorcise a ghost?”

They search for most of the day. If for nothing else, Sam argues, it’s better safe than sorry. Dean broke around 5 pm, complaining that he needed to stretch his legs. He came back an hour later with a couple beers and some peanut butter sandwiches.

“Best I could get without leaving the Bunker,” Dean says apologetically, setting a plate in front of Sam, “Eat up, little brother.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but gratefully accepts the sandwich. 

They eat in silence for a little while, before Sam decides to bring up something that’s been bothering him. “How’d you know where that room was?”

Dean immediately stiffens, back arching away from the seat. He swallows hard, the half-chewed bite of sandwich rolling down his throat with some difficulty. Dean stares at the sandwich and Sam’s unsure if he’s going to get an outburst, a lengthy silence, or anything at all. 

“You aren’t gonna believe me, Sammy,” Dean croaks finally, taking another big bite of his sandwich.

Sam sighs. “Try me.”

He watches Dean closely as Dean finishes his sandwich, clearly weighing the options of whether or not to speak up. He washes the final bite down with a long gulp of beer before looking Sam in the eyes. “Honestly? Cas told me where it was.”

Sam frowns, not sure what the big deal was about that confession. It wasn’t a big surprise that the angel seemed to prefer confiding in Dean. In fact, it makes sense that Cas would have told Dean at one point or another where he’d been staying.

“I’m not offended, Dean.”

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t mean he told me a while ago. I just found out last night.”

“What?”

Another long swig of alcohol. Sam winces, but he’s accepted a while ago that there’s little he can do about Dean’s alcoholism. It seemed like things were getting better...but that was before the Mark. “I told you, Sam. Cas told me last night.”

“Dean…”

“I don’t know what it was, some kind of dream, but it  _ felt real _ .”

It’s been awhile since Sam has seen Dean taking a loss this hard. Bobby once pulled Sam aside to inform him that Dean had kept Sam’s dead body in a room for several days before selling his soul to bring him back, so this sort of behavior wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities, but…

“Look,” Dean continues, face earnest, “I wouldn’t believe me either, but that tip about the room...I had  _ no idea _ Cas had made himself a place in the Bunker…”

Sam wants to believe Dean, but he also knows that someone needs to be the reasonable one. If Dean needs to grieve, so be it. But that means Sam has to take the more realistic approach to this. “I don’t want to say this is your way of grieving, Dean--”

“--Then don’t say it--”

“--but it could be just that! Maybe Cas mentioned this a while ago and you just remembered now! Or maybe it’s just luck that you found that room--”

“You don’t believe me? Fine.” Dean grabs the beer and stands, grabbing a few books as he makes his way out of the room, “But it happened. It’s real.”

He stalks out of the room. Sam knows his brother well enough not to follow. When Dean’s ready to calm down and come back, he will. Until that point, it might be better to continue research.

But he’s been in the library for hours and Sam can’t help but admit that he’s hit a wall. He wanders the library aimlessly, staring at the vast collection of books when one catches his eye. It’s a volume on angels and, unlike the books surrounding it, isn’t covered in dust. 

He pulls it from the shelf and flips it open to a random page, where a sketch of a truly monstrous being resides. Its face is contorted in something that looks like rage, the wings stretch forth ominously. The fingers look like claws as they grip something akin to a sword. The remainder of the form is nebulous, not quite human, but not quite anything else either. The typed heading underneath it reads “Angel’s True Form.”

No wonder the demons were scared of these beings. 

And yet somehow Sam and Dean  _ befriended _ one of these.

It’s a lot to take in. 

Sam’s eyes catch a little note handwritten in blue ink, scribbled near the sketch:  _ I believe this illustrator has not really seen an angel’s true form. This is not what I look like. _

A grin tugs on Sam’s lips. There’s something oddly reassuring knowing that Castiel, in his spare time, had apparently taken to correcting the books on angels. He flips to another page, where a detailed diagram compares angel wings to bird wings. 

_ Angels did not copy birds. Birds copied angels. _

Sam laughs aloud, he can almost hear Cas’ affronted confusion at the claim that his wings were like bird wings.

He skims the book eagerly now, searching for the familiar handwriting. The blue ink stands out against the white pages. Some of the notes are actually informative, even going so far as to scratch out certain words or phrases in the book and replacing them with his own. Others are simply funny quips.

One in particular, though, stands out.

The section talks in depth about angel’s emotions, eventually concluding that angels are unable to feel. It’s lengthy and uses plenty of big words and what’s more, it’s not unlike the experience Sam’s had with other angels. But Cas’ simple note underneath the phrase “Angels do not feel” makes Sam catch his breath.

_ Then why do I? _

“Oh, Cas…” Sam breathes, fingertips tracing along the note. He knows what it’s like to feel out of place and alone. How could he not have picked up on what Cas was feeling?

For the third time that day, Sam feels the familiar weight of guilt creep in. This time, though, he doesn’t try to push it away. He allows it to sink in. In some sick, twisted way, Sam finds himself feeling glad that Castiel has disappeared. If he hadn’t...Sam feels sick to his stomach knowing they would have only continued to treat him poorly.

And suddenly the guilt is too much, threatening to crush Sam. 

It’s an impulse, taking the angels book with him out of the library and to Dean’s room. Sam raps on the door lightly, knuckles barely brushing the door when it comes whipping open, Dean’s eyes slightly red.

“What?” Dean snaps.

“Dean…” 

Sam’s not sure how to continue. His face scrunches up into what he’s sure Dean will call his “puppy dog look” as he tries not to break down. Dean’s expression softens. 

“Dean,” Sam tries again, holding the book up. But he can’t get any words out and he knows the book alone won’t answer any questions, “Dean…”

“I know,” Dean says, wrapping Sam in a hug as he pulls him into the bedroom, “I miss him too.”

They don’t talk much. Sam can’t help but notice the clumsily wrapped gift sitting on Dean’s shelf like one of his most prized possessions. They both sit on the mattress, surrounded by a half dozen old books that lay open. 

Dean’s interested in flipping through the book on angels that Sam brought. Sam knows right away what section he’s made it to. Dean alternates between looking pensive and huffing the soft, gentle laugh that seems to be reserved for Castiel. His face falls when he reaches the section on angelic emotion.

“Sammy…” Dean whispers, eyes still on the book, “How did we not notice?”

Sam swallows, unsure how to answer.

“I called him a hammer,” Dean continues, “I said if he felt anything he’d probably break...and then that son of a bitch feels something and...and…”

“We break him,” Sam finishes for Dean, knowing full well that if Dean finished the sentence he’d place the blame entirely on himself. 

“Can you fix a broken angel?” 

It’s odd, Dean asking him questions like this. His voice is soft and earnest, it reminds Sam of the questions he used to ask Dean when they were kids. He used to think Dean had all the answers.

Sam nods. “We’ve done the impossible before. We can do this, too.”

“When he’s fixed, do you think he’ll want to stay?”

A spike of fear pierces his heart. Sam hasn’t even considered this possibility. He hasn’t really been thinking this far ahead. “We’re family,” Sam says softly, “We’ll treat him so well he’ll never think to leave.”

Dean utters a choked laugh. “Little too late for that.”

Sam’s trying to formulate a response when he hears Dean gasp. Dean pulls a folded page from the book, unfolding it to reveal sketches of the Winchesters. It’s simple things. The picture of Sam reveals him with his nose tucked into a book. The sketch of Dean is of Dean in a bathrobe, sipping a cup of coffee. A small note resides beneath them.

_ All these books immortalize important beings. The Winchesters, they are important to me. They may never get a book. But at least this way they will be preserved for history. And, perhaps, even preserved with me. Still, they are at the end of this book so the reader will be aware of their implicit importance. _

“Stupid, selfless angel,” Dean mutters to himself. Sam’s pretty sure he’s heard Dean repeat that exact phrase multiple times. “I didn’t know you could draw.”

There’s something painful about learning about Castiel this way, sneaking through his remnants in his absence. Seeing all the parts of the angel they should have noticed before, but never seemed to get around to. 

For the first time that day, Sam feels the cloud of guilt solidifying, turning his bones to iron. They’re getting Castiel back. There’s no question about it. And if their plan of tracking down Rowena isn’t the most thought through, who cares?

“Ready or not, Rowena,” Sam growls, “We’re coming for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's a slow chapter...but it's definitely gonna pick up! In other news, GUESS WHO JUST FINISHED HER LAST UNDERGRADUATE CLASS??


	7. Two Birds, One Angel

Dean can’t remember a night he hasn’t dreamed, tonight is no exception. This time he’s in Purgatory, wandering the forsaken forest with one simple goal in mind:

_ Find Cas _ . 

Somehow, despite being surrounded by monsters out for his blood, finding the angel is more difficult, and more important, than his own survival. Deep down, Dean knows he’ll never forgive himself if he leaves Purgatory without saving Castiel too. Home doesn’t quite seem like home anymore without the angel in it.

Despite the inherent dangers, Dean feels himself calling out for Castiel on more than one occasion. There is no response, aside from a pack of vampire who have heard his calls and appear to be very interested in hunting down human prey.

His body twitches with adrenaline, waiting for the decision to stay and fight or take off running. Dean chooses the former, swinging his blade with ease. One head comes off easy. Another soon follows. The third is more difficult, eventually coming off with a splatter of blood. The other two vampires flee.

Dean considers following them, but something stops him cold. Vampire blood runs down his arms, the red standing out against his bare forearm not unlike the Mark of Cain. Dean looks around the massacre, three bodies brutally decapitated by him. He feels sick. For a brief moment, the blood on his arm seems to glow, not unlike the Mark, and Dean stumbles backwards. 

He tries to wipe the blood off, but it smears. Panic rising, Dean tries again, but it seems like he’s only growing more bloody.  _ This is it, _ Dean thinks numbly,  _ I’ve become the very thing I hunt _ …

A twig snaps nearby. Dean’s hand shakes, he’s not even sure if he’ll be able to keep hold of his weapon and he’s not sure he wants to. He turns to see...Cas.

The angel’s suit is grimy, his face ungroomed. His blue eyes light up as Dean’s eyes rove his face. “Dean...thank goodness I found you again.”

_ Again? _ Dimly, Dean is aware that Castiel did not look for him in Purgatory. That doesn’t stop him from taking a wobbly step towards the angel. Or another. Or another. The forest falls away with each step, until soon they are only surrounded by darkness.

“We gotta get out of here,” Dean says, gripping Cas’ arms.

The happiness slides from Cas’ eyes. “I cannot leave.”

Dean frowns. He looks down to see that he’s smeared blood on Castiel’s trench coat. It feels as though he’s infected the angel. Panicked, Dean lets go. “You have to. I’ve been looking for you.”

Something akin to confusion flickers in Cas’ gaze. “You’ve been...looking?” It sounds as though he can’t quite believe the words, even when said aloud. “You don’t often do that.”

_ What? _

Dean shakes his head. “I’ve let you down, I get it. And we can talk about that later if you want. But I’m here now and we have to  _ go _ .” He grabs Cas’ hand instinctively, as though to guide him out of Purgatory, but when Dean turns around it really hits him that the forest they were in is gone. The world is dark and Dean has no idea how to get out.

Cas hasn’t moved. He’s staring at their interlocked fingers like he’s never seen anything like it before. Dean’s tempted to make a comment about how surely Castiel must have seen a movie before, but hand holding in movies means something very different than this….right? He doesn’t want Castiel to get the wrong idea.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel says, eyes still glued to their hands. He gives Dean’s a soft squeeze, like a reassurance. 

“Save the apologies,” Dean replies, although he knows Cas shouldn’t have to apologize for anything. When Cas still refuses to move, Dean sighs. If Castiel doesn't move, he’ll settle with dragging the angel home. Dean gives an almighty tug and Cas inches forwards. “We’re getting out.”

“Dean…” Cas looks up at him at last, setting his free hand atop their interlocked fingers. “I was looking for you to tell you that it’s not your fault.”

“What’s not?” Dean’s not even thinking about the hand gesture or how intimate it is, all he can focus on is the painful amount of finality in the angel’s voice.

“You can’t save me,” Castiel whispers, “And that’s not your fault.”

“No,” Dean growls, squeezing Cas’ hand a little tighter, “I can save you. I will save you.”

“Not this time.”

“I  _ have _ to.”

Cas smiles sadly. “That’s not the way this works.”

From far away, Dean can hear Sam’s voice calling his name. He looks up, trying to find the source, and when he looks back to the angel, Castiel is half concealed. “Not the way what works?” Dean’s voice is pitched higher than usual.

“The Darkness…” 

Sam’s voice is growing louder, more frantic. Cas, on the other hand, is becoming more and more incorporeal, his fingers sliding out of Dean’s. “ _ Cas! _ ” Dean shouts, desperation bleeding into his voice. He’s running forwards, trying to grab onto the angel when--

“Dean! Wake up!”

Dean’s eyes open to see Sam hovering over him. His throat feels raw and he realizes he’s been clenching Sam’s shirt. Sheepishly, Dean lets it go. “Was it bad?” he asks quietly.

“You were thrashing,” Sam admits, “I only came in because I heard something smash.” He gestures to the side of Dean’s bed, where a broken lamp lays, “I think you knocked this off your nightstand on accident.”

Great. Not only were the nightmares getting more confusing, they were also getting more violent.

Dean groans, rubbing his eyes as he sits up in bed. After what he’s just seen, he doesn’t really want to go back to bed right away.

“You, uh, want to talk about it?”

Sam looks hesitant in even asking. Which, Dean knows, makes sense. They’ve both had their fair share of nightmares for years. They just didn’t talk about it. At most, there would be a fresh glass of water next to the bed, or an extra pillow. Small, silent signs that said “I know what you’re going through. I’m not leaving you.”

Dean’s secretly happy that Sam’s broken this protocol. 

“I keep dreaming about him, Sammy,” Dean croaks. “It’s always a different Cas, like when he was human, or crazy, or…”  _ broken _ , but Dean can’t admit that one out loud, “Doesn’t matter what Cas it is, it always feels so real.”

He braces himself for the reaction that’s coming. Sam growing angry or annoyed, or perhaps merely adopting the soft, pitying voice he has to break the news that Dean’s just in mourning. That this is all in his head. 

What Dean doesn’t expect is for Sam to exhale slowly and say, “Maybe Cas is trying to get through to you.”

Dean blinks, trying to figure out if he is still dreaming. “...you think Cas is trying to talk to me?”

Sam shrugs, letting go of Dean. “I mean, this isn’t the first time he’s tried to talk to you in your dreams before, right?”

“No…” 

There’s something profoundly reassuring about Sam going along with his theory. Dean doesn’t feel so alone, doesn’t feel like he’s going crazy. The relief seeps into his bones for a moment, but it dissipates as Dean recalls the dream with Cas.

“Cas is giving up.”

“What?” Sam’s voice is sharp, alert.

_ “You can’t save me,” Castiel had whispered, “And that’s not your fault.” _

“It felt like Purgatory all over again,” Dean doesn’t want to think about that experience, but it hovers over him like smog, filling his lungs against his will, “He seemed pretty certain of his fate.”

“Did he give any clues of where he is? Who has him?”

Dean tries to recall the memories, forcing them to the forefront of his mind until they feel almost real again. “He mentioned the Darkness…”

“That thing connected to the Mark?”

_ Shit _ . 

If this was because of him...Dean’s stomach twists into knots at the thought of Castiel being taken by who-knows-what, going who-knows-where. 

“Dean,” Sam’s voice keeps Dean from sinking into a panic, it’s firm and reasonable, “What do you remember about your dreams?”

“Cas felt real…” Dean rattles off, “He looked like how he did when we were in Purgatory…”

“Huh.” Sam’s got his thinking face on, meaning his brain is going a thousand miles a minute trying to process and utilize the facts.

“And everything was dark. Like, weirdly dark, I had no idea where we even were.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, just stares off towards the wall. Dean clenches some of the bedding, squeezing the soft comforter in his fists for a moment before releasing them. He grabs at the sheets again. Clench, release. Clench, release. Almost like a heartbeat.

“I think our best bet is to track down Rowena,” Sam says finally, turning to face Dean. “Not only do we take care of the ghost wolf possession, but…”

“...she might know something about the Darkness.”

Neither of them want to consider what will happen if Rowena doesn’t have the information they need. 

They decide to head out early. Their preparations are...strange, to say the least. Of course, they’ve got the basics: rock salt, matches, holy water, but since they’re not entirely sure what they’re up against, Sam and Dean found other possible solutions, including…

“Is that vodka?” Sam asks as Dean shoves a bottle into his jacket pocket. “Dude, c’mon.”

“We might need it!”

Sam makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a tut. 

“I’m serious, Sammy,” Dean says, “Apparently there’s Mongolian lore that says they used to bathe the possessed individual in vodka to purify them.”

“Chances of that actually working?”

“No idea,” Dean smirks, “But even if it doesn’t, it never hurts to have alcohol, right?”

Sam rolls his eyes, packing a crucifix into the mix. Dean raises an eyebrow. “You never know,” Sam mutters. Dean chuckles. At least they’re both bringing shots in the dark.

Once they feel properly armed, though nothing really feels proper when they have no idea what they’re up against, the Winchesters make their way to the doorway.

“Plan?” Dean grunts. It’s funny, he used to be the one leading these fights but these days it seems like Sam is taking charge more and more.

Sam shrugs. “Let ‘em take us?”

Huh. This is very un-Sam like. “That’s it?” Dean’s somewhat aghast, watching his brother for any signs that Sam might be joking.

“Those things have to be going back to Rowena eventually,” Sam replies, “Might as well speed it along. If things get dicey, try to exorcise the ghost, if not…”

He trails off, letting the implications hang in the air. Neither of them really want to hurt the people, especially as they seem to be merely accidental victims, but if push comes to shove, they might have to. 

What is with all these possessions lately? First the kids turning on them when they fought the Pied Piper, now this? On the rare occasions Dean surfaces from his Castiel-obsession (even he can’t really argue against this fact anymore) he can’t help but wonder what happened because of his removal of the Mark of Cain. 

_ I really should look into the news more _ , Dean chides himself, promising to do more digging once they finish this hunt. For now, though, the most important thing was tracking down Rowena so they could find Cas.

“Ready to go?” Dean asks Sam.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Sam sighs, pushing the door open. 

The sun has only just started to rise, only the faintest hint of light peeks from the horizon. Little puffs of steam emit from Dean’s mouth as he breathes, the morning affording just as much warmth as it has sun. His eyes scan the fields, on edge for anything unusual. 

Truth be told, despite angels and demons and skinwalker and heaven knows what else, it’s still strange to be on the lookout for someone looking human. It’s far easier to distance himself from the real world when they’re looking for things with much more obvious tells. The teeth of vampires, or ethereal nature of ghosts. Hell, even demons at least had the black eyes. 

“Target at 10 o’clock,” Sam breathes.

Dean turns his head to see an older gentleman wandering the fields. He carries a gnarled wooden cane, back bent from age, and his glasses, even from a distance, appear to be thick. “Has he seen us?” Dean whispers.

As though on cue, the man closes his eyes and lifts his nose to the air. He inhales deeply for a moment, then pauses, head whipping in the direction of the Winchesters. “Has now, Sam mutters darkly.

The man takes off towards them at a surprisingly fast pace for being so old. “Split up,” Sam commands, “Whoever doesn’t get caught will follow behind.”

Before Dean can argue, Sam’s taken off in a run,  _ in the direction of their assailant _ . He’s frozen in place; all he can see is his brother sprinting towards his disappearance.

Sam doesn’t even try to fight back when he reaches the older gentleman. A blow to the head from the can sends Sam falling to the ground. Dean bits down on his cheek to keep from crying out as Sam crumples.

Trailing targets has been something drilled into Dean since he was 10. He still remembers the day John first taught him. At first, Dean had been excited. John was taking him to the mall, it was the most normal thing his father had announced for months and Dean had almost cried tears of relief for being able to do what the other kids were doing.

The excitement had faded quickly as John had informed Dean of his task. Dean learned quickly that day how much space he had to give between himself and the target, at what pace to follow and ways to disguise himself if the target became suspicious. John drilled Dean for hours, they didn’t leave the mall until closing time. 

Dean tried to pretend the warm pretzel John grudgingly bought for him after they were finished was a mark of being a normal kid.

Years later, Dean Winchester had perfected the skill of trailing, but following the old man he quickly learns that most of the rules can be discarded. This man has one purpose and one purpose only: get Sam to Rowena.

There is a bit of a hiccup as Dean realizes the man is carrying Sam to a car, an old red VW bug, forcing Dean to sprint back to the Bunker to get his own car to follow. Luckily, the roads are empty at this time of day and Dean can speed fairly recklessly to catch up to the man. 

He trails the man for over an hour when he sees Sam’s head rise from the back seat. Dean’s heart relaxes. Even though Dean knows his brother is going to be fine, it’s always nice to see some signs of life.

It ends up being around four hours of driving; they cross the state border into Missouri. Kansas City, to be exact. Dean grins, there’s something funny about Missouri being home to a Kansas City. 

To his surprise, the car eventually pulls not into a dark alleyway or abandoned building, but the parking lot of a nice hotel. Figures. The last time Dean can recall his enemies living it up in luxury, he was dealing with the angels.

_ The paint was cream, but the stylings of the room were ornate. Heaven had gone out of its way to keep Dean a prisoner in luxury, even going so far as to supply his favorite beer and burgers. Dean, however, had one thing on his mind: saving Sam. _

_ “You spineless, soulless, son of a bitch!” Dean snarled at Castiel when the angel refused to cooperate, “What do you care about dying? You’re already dead. We’re done.” _

_ “Dean,” Cas’ voice held Dean’s name in a way different than most beings. Almost like a prayer, if angels could do that. _

_ “We’re done,” Dean repeated angrily. _

The memory rose unbidden to Dean’s mind and he once again felt guilt. Even then, he’d felt vindicated in walking all over Cas, using the angel like a punching bag. And yet, despite all that, Castiel had rebelled less than an hour later, blatantly banishing Zachariah and aiding Dean in finding Sam.

It’s no wonder the angels blame Dean for Cas’ fall.

The man leaves the Bug, wandering inside alone. Which means Sam is still in the car. Dean parks the Impala nearby, rushing to the VW Bug to see...Sam already outside it.

“Took you long enough,” Sam grins. He doesn’t look too worse for wear, though his forehead is bruised and a trickle of blood has run down his cheek. 

“That was the stupidest plan of all time,” Dean snaps, but he doesn’t harp much, well aware they’re losing time. The man must be going to get Rowena, meaning she could be coming any moment and the element of surprise will be lost.

They make their way into the lobby of the hotel, Sam trying to wipe the blood from off his face.

Not that it matters, they still look out of place in the luxurious lobby. Lush potted plants dot the interior and rich leather sofas sit nearby a large, flickering fireplace. Their reflections are all but evident in the sleek marble flooring and a nicely dressed pianist is playing complex melodies on a beautiful grand piano.

In comparison, Dean’s jeans are ripped and his boots muddy. Sam’s not much different, looking even worse for wear from riding captive in the back seat of a car. The concierge scoffs at them, clearly searching for any excuse that could get them kicked out.

Dean rummages through his jacket pocket to pull out a spare FBI badge. Sam does the same as they make their way to the front desk where the man sits. “FBI,” Dean announces, the lie so practiced that it slips confidently from his lips.

The concierge gives them a once-over, clearly hesitant to believe they were federal agents in the state they were in. Dean gives an exaggerated sigh. “We’ve been working an undercover case and have tracked the suspect to this building.”

“You think there’s a criminal staying here?” the man’s voice is high and reedy.

Dean’s jaw twitches. Every moment wasted here is time lost in tracking down Rowena. “Yes,” he replies firmly, trying his hardest to remain professional, “A woman in her 40s, dark red hair…”

“Like me?” A familiar Scottish accent echos down the lobby and Dean turns to see Rowena, wearing an expensive and form-fitting black dress, strolling almost leisurely towards them. The old man follows behind her. He catches sight of Sam and growls.

Dean and Sam both pull guns, but Rowena simply chuckles. She mutters a spell and they both freeze up. The concierge, eyes wide, grabs a phone and begins to dial a number, but Rowena snaps her fingers. The man opens and closes his mouth, but no sound comes out. “No point in you getting involved,” she says, voice sing-songy. 

“What are you doing, Rowena?” Sam growls through gritted teeth.

“If you  _ must _ know,” Rowena replies cheerfully, making her way to the Winchesters to pull the guns from their frozen fingers, “This was supposed to stay within the family. Just me and Fergus.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean snaps, “That kind of changes when you involve innocent humans.” He tries to point at the old man and remembers he’s frozen.

“They’re just temporary! Besides, I’m sure they don’t mind. I’ve boosted their strength and stamina, most of them are in the best health they’ve ever been.”

“You don’t get to make that decision,” Sam says, “Let them go.”

“Oh, boys, you’ve dealt with my son long enough to know that what you’re offering is a terrible deal,” Rowena croons, pacing the lobby. The man at the desk looks terrified as she approaches, but Rowena’s attention is focused elsewhere. “What’s in it for me if I let my helpers go?”

“Crowley,” Sam replies simply.

Dean’s eyes widen. They can’t give up Crowley. Not that Dean wouldn’t like to be rid of that unbearable asshole, it would be a dream come true of Crowley and Rowena could somehow take each other out. But Crowley was the King of Hell, which meant he had power. And they might very well need some demonic might to help save Cas.

Still, it’s not like he can discuss strategy with Sam during a negotiation. Dean prays that Sam is merely bluffing for time, then adds: “What’s this vendetta against him worth to you?”

“Vendetta?” Rowena chuckles, “Oh, yes, I’ll have that eventually, but that’s not what I need him for.”

“What?” Sam looks just as confused as Dean feels.

“Demon power can come in handy,” Rowena crosses her arms belligerently.

“...you need him, don’t you?” Dean says, recognizing the same sort of fear in her eyes that resides in his own chest.  _ Fear _ . This isn’t just Rowena on a power trip, if she doesn’t get Crowley...something will happen.

The problem is, Dean’s not sure he minds just letting it happen. Rowena’s been troublesome, to say the least. She’s got the double-cross down better than anyone, even Crowley. And while she’s been unfortunately useful, he’s not sure about the costs. After all, Rowena very well might be the reason Castiel is gone.

“Maybe I do. But you boys aren’t  _ exactly _ in the position to argue,” Rowena retorts, leveling Dean’s gun at his chest. “This is a bit...rudimentary, in terms of killing you, but it will do the trick.”

“We’ll find Crowley for you!”  Sam bursts out. 

Rowena turns on him. “Nice bluff,” she replies, “But if my drone found you, it means you’ve already found Crowley.”

Sam shakes his head. “We summoned him once, at a crossroads. Needed information…”

Rowena raises her eyebrows. “I thought we solved your problem, Winchester. Your brother’s down one demonic tattoo.” She runs her fingers against Dean’s bare forearm and he cringes. “Unless…” Rowena grins wickedly, “You can’t find the angel.”

Was it really that obvious? Dean makes a face as Rowena throws back her head to laugh. “What did you do to him?” Dean growls.

“Nothing,” Rowena smirks, “But really, he was a broken angel, wasn’t he? Not much of a loss for you boys. You’re like me.”

“Never.”

“No, you are,” Rowena sighs, “Because like me, you gravitate towards things with  _ power _ . And that wee excuse of a supernatural being? He lost his power.”

Dean feels his fingers clench. His eyes widen, his fingers were  _ moving _ . Of course, in the big scheme of the grand plan of capturing Rowena, a little finger wiggle isn’t exactly promising, but it’s something. He glances over to the front desk to see the concierge hesitantly moving towards the phone. 

They need to distract Rowena until the call is made.

“He still has some grace,” Dean argues gruffly. Inwardly, he’s cursing. That response makes it sound like they only want Castiel for his angelic powers. And while Dean’s almost certain Cas can’t hear this conversation, he’s terrified the angel can. And that Castiel will actually think that’s all he’s good for, when that’s so far from the truth. 

“I wouldn’t bank on that.”

Dean’s heart starts to pound, mouth growing dry. His fingers are shaking and Dean can feel the tremors moving to his wrists and forearms. Good, that means he can move those too. But there’s a thought that drowns all his planning out and it’s simply  _ Cas. Cas. Cas. _

“What did you do to him?” 

Rowena smiles, something akin to a sad smile, but the glitter in her eyes is anything but sympathetic. “I never set a finger on the poor thing. He did all the dirty work himself.”

_ Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas _ .

Dean’s arms give a twitch. They can move too. He also tries to wiggle his toes. Bonus. A quick glance to the desk reveals the man with the phone to his ear. Thankfully, Rowena seems more than engrossed in her mental torture of the Winchesters to notice.

“Should have seen the look in his eyes when he cut his own grace out…”

And suddenly it’s too much, Dean launching at Rowena with a roar. His upper legs are still not entirely unfrozen, so the movement is slow and clumsy, almost pitching him straight to the floor. To Dean’s surprise, however, Rowena doesn’t look confident by the pathetic attack...she looks scared.

His distraction is enough for Sam to come up behind Rowena and disarm her, grabbing Dean’s gun and pointing it at Rowena. “Don’t even think about hurting him,” Sam’s voice is hoarse.

Rowena purses her lips. “I see you want to make this harder than it has to be.” Her eyes flick to the older man, who has stood forgotten in the corner for the length of their conversation. She snaps her fingers and points to the concierge. “Sic ‘em,” she commands and the old man takes off with a growl, cane raised as a weapon.

Dean’s after the old man in a heartbeat and Sam’s distracted just long enough for Rowena to shout an incantation. There’s a bang and a flash of light, smoke filling the room. It’s hard to see anything.

Luckily, Dean’s close enough to the old man to grab him by the arm. It is thin and sinewy, but uncharacteristically strong, nearly tugging out of his grasp in the attempts to reach the man at the desk. The old man growls, biting down on Dean’s wrist. Dean cries out, but does not let go. 

Meanwhile, Sam stumbles around, gun raised as he searches for Rowena. He’s on edge, heart thudding in his chest knowing full well that she could be  _ anywhere _ . This was not how he expected this day to go. A surge of panic rolls through him as he hears Dean cry out, clumsily trying to make his way through the smoke to his brother.

As the man bites deeper, Dean rummages through his jacket for something,  _ anything _ , that might help. That’s when he finds the vodka. Dean uses his teeth to tug the cap off before upending the bottle of alcohol onto the old man’s head. He sincerely hopes that this ritual didn’t normally come with an incantation, because all Dean could manage was “Out, you bastard, out!”

The man’s face smokes as though burned and for a moment Dean’s afraid he’s made a huge mistake. Then the old man’s mouth opens, a ghostly form of a wolf exiting. The wolf turns, bowing its head almost in a form of gratitude to Dean. There’s a brief howl before the wolf runs off and disappears. 

Dean breathes a sigh of relief as the old man collapses. 

“Dean, are you alright?” Sam’s frantic calls cut through the fog and Dean finds himself face to face with his brother. 

“I’m fine,” Dean pants. He’ll joke about the vodka working later. “Where’s Rowena?”

A flash of fear crosses Sam’s face and Dean ends up with the same realization. Sure enough, after the smoke clears, it’s painfully obvious. Rowena is gone.

“ _ Shit! _ ” Dean shouts, throwing the empty bottle of vodka, which smashes on the pristine marble floor. Both the old man and the concierge look visibly shaken, but Dean does nothing to assuage their fears.

He leaves Sam to take care of the damage, stalking out the beautiful hotel lobby to his car. He kicks the nearby VW Bug for good measure. Dean’s angry at the world, he’s angry at Rowena, but mostly he’s just angry at himself.

_ Cas cut his grace out _ .

While Dean couldn’t exactly relate to that experience, he’d seen how Cas was when he’d lost his grace before. Scared, tired, in pain. How bad had it been to have Metatron tug the very essence of Castiel’s angelic identity out? How much worse must it have been for Cas to knowingly do the same thing to himself?

_ Shit. Shit. Shit _ .

They’d come here for  _ answers _ , not another heaping pile of guilt. It seems like every step Dean takes to get closer to finding Cas, they end up even further away. Dean finds himself wishing he hadn’t used that bottle of vodka on the old man.

Sam eventually returns carrying both guns. “I think I’ve got it all sorted out,” he says, “Neither of them are going to say anything to the police, and the concierge has promised to call us if he sees Rowena again.”

“Not that it matters,” Dean mutters darkly, “Rowena’s gone, she’s still got the spells up and running and we’ve got jack on how to save Cas.”

“We’ll find him,” Sam replies tersely, “We’ll bring him back.”

They don’t speak for the entirety of the ride home, Kansas’  _ Leftoverture  _ blasting to fill the heavy silence.

“How many more times are we gonna have to say it?” Dean says finally. They’ve stopped at a small diner to eat, but Dean’s poking at his burger like he’s actually finding it unappetizing.

“What?”

“How many more times are we just going to say we’re gonna save him? Why can’t we just  _ save _ him?” Dean runs his finger around the rim of his water, looking anywhere but at Sam. “He’s lost, he’s missing his grace and he thinks we don’t care about him... _ why can’t we just save him? _ ”

Sam is quiet for a bit, eating his salad carefully. Leaf by leaf. “I don’t know about you,” he says finally, putting down his fork, “But when I say we’ll find him...I kind of say it like a prayer. Like if I say it enough, Cas will hear and he’ll...I don’t know, he’ll at least have hope while we’re trying to figure things out.”

“We’ll find him,” Dean says, trying the prayer out. It feels hesitant. That’s no good. “We’ll find Cas,” he tries again, the nickname sitting better on his tongue. “We’ll find Cas because he’s family.” Something clicks with this statement and Dean looks up to Sam for affirmation.

“We’ll find Cas because he’s family,” Sam agrees, smiling hopefully, “And we’ll make sure he knows it for good this time.”

“Cas is family,” Dean echoes, closing his eyes in the odd hope that it will help his prayer make it to the angel faster. “Cas is family.”

He ignores the fear in the back of his mind that reminds him that without his grace, Castiel might not be able to hear any of their prayers. And if they don’t hurry, Cas might not ever get to hear any of it. Cas might die thinking the Winchesters thought of him merely as a tool to be utilized when they needed extra firepower.

Dean doesn’t touch his burger for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the supportive comments! You have no idea how much they make my day :)


	8. In the Beginning, There was Light

The longer they go without finding Cas, the more messed up Dean seems. Sam isn’t sure how to deal with it. They could work on giving up, on accepting that Castiel might very well be dead. After all, this conclusion, however awful, could very well be the reality of the situation. But Dean would never accept it. Not readily.

Sam decides to give their search a month before suggesting Dean tries to move on.

In the meantime, they’re stuck pacing the Bunker  _ again _ trying to figure out how to stop Rowena. Dean’s no help at all, grumbling about how the entire venture was a bust. Sam can’t quite agree, a few tiny details tugging at his consciousness, almost begging him to connect the dots.

_ Fact 1: Castiel cut out his own grace before disappearing _

_ Fact 2: Rowena needs Crowley’s help for something _

Both of these involved large amounts of supernatural power and both events happened shortly after the removal of the Mark of Cain. Maybe they were actually starting to figure out some of the consequences of the spell. Losing Cas, though, is a bitter pill to swallow.

“What about Crowley?” Sam asks, stopping Dean in his pacing, “He might know something about why Rowena wants him.”

They were met with raucous laughter when Crowley heard them ask the question.

“Oh, this is too good,” Crowley chortles, “ _ She _ wants  _ my _ help.”

“Can you help her?” Dean asks quickly.

“Of course not!”

“As in, you’re refusing to help her,” Sam clarifies, “Or…”

“Why do you think I’m hiding here?” Crowley’s grin is fading, “If I  _ knew _ how to stop whatever effects are plaguing her, I would have used that to my advantage.” 

Another dead end. Dean slams his fist against a bookshelf, sending several books plummeting to the floor. Sam’s tempted to do the same, but refrains. He  _ has _ to find an answer, they can’t be in the dark forever…

“So, you’re telling me  _ nobody _ knows how the hell to fix things?”

Crowley stills. Sam can see the gears turning, the scheming far from over. “There...could be one lead,” his voice holds the false sense of hesitance. Even in the dungeon, chained to a desk, Crowley seems to hold himself like the salesman that he is. “But it will cost you. Big time.”

“Great,” Dean snaps, “Whose soul do you want?”

Crowley laughs, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Nothing  _ that _ extreme, squirrel! I’m talking a little more walking room here. A nice television, plenty of snacks...perhaps the occasional call girl. I’m still a King, you know. I deserve to be treated like one.”

“Really? That’s it?” Sam squints suspiciously at Crowley, who shifts nervously.

“Look, the theories about what happens when the Mark is removed, they’re all pretty much demon bedtime stories. But none of them are good. So.”

“You want us to clean up the mess,” Dean finishes grumpily.

“Exactly,” Crowley brightens, “And in the meantime, I live it up in luxury.”

It’s annoying, yes, but it’s not the worst plan. Sam sighs, relenting. “Fine.”

“I’ll need to draw up a contract.”

“Whatever it takes, Crowley,” Dean snaps, “What’s your lead?”

Crowley looks up at Sam, fingers clasped. “Lucifer.”

It’s hard to breathe, Sam stumbling backwards as his heart rate rockets.  _ Not him _ , his mind begs,  _ Anyone but him _ . Castiel had tried hard to remove the negative effects of Cage, but traces of it still claw at Sam from time to time. And even if Cas  _ had _ been able to make all that go away, he couldn’t erase the time Sam spent possessed by Lucifer on Earth. The things he’d done...the things he’d seen…

Sam’s dimly aware of a strange sound. He blinks to find himself hunched over, vomit on the floor. Oh. That’s not good.

“Sammy?” Dean’s got his arm around Sam, propping him up. Sam pushes him off.

“I’m fine,” he slurs. It’s a lie, but Sam knows he’ll have to power through. He won’t let Dean confront Lucifer alone. 

“How are we supposed to talk to him, anyway?” Dean rounds on Crowley, clearly trying to take the focus off of Sam. Even though the only other person in the room is the demon, Sam is quietly grateful.

“There are spells.”

“Not helpful.”

Crowley sighs dramatically. “It’s not going to hurt you. Imagine it like a hologram: you’ll only see his form.”

“What are the odds he’ll talk, though?” Sam has to give Dean credit for stepping up. Especially when the information involves finding Castiel. Dean seems to be handling this fairly calmly.

“No idea,” Crowley shrugs, “But do you have any other options right now?”

The demon’s got a point. Sam closes his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. If he’s going to be of any help to Dean, he’s got to have his shit together.

“What are we going to need to make this work?”

The list, as it turns out, is long and  _ very _ hard to get ahold of. The blood of a first, the bone of the last and the heart of fire.

The first one was easy enough, as Crowley and Castiel had done their fair share on experiments of alphas. It took a lengthy drive to an old barn in Montana, but aside from the creepy corpse on a stretcher, the venture was uneventful.

Evidently Rowena was underground for now. Sam hopes they’ve weakened her at least a little.

The blood itself turns out to have belonged to an alpha skin walker. The mutilated corpse on the stretcher, Sam notes with a grimace, feeling sick about the whole thing. Still, he can’t complain too much. The blood obtained by Crowley’s experiments might be cruel...but at least it’s time efficient.

As it turned out, the second item needed to be the bone of someone whose family line had ended. This one was trickier, but the Winchesters were no stranger to digging up graves.

It was the research that had been difficult. Trying to find a family whose entire line had ended with one child was difficult enough, but then came trying to find one whose child was marked and buried in America. 

Thankfully, Dean finds a lead in Virginia. It’s another drive, though not as long as before. Sam’s just grateful it’s nightfall when they dig up this particular grave. It’s heartening, though, knowing they’re over halfway there with the ingredients.

Which, naturally, means that is when they can’t figure out the final ingredient.

A week passed and the Winchesters will still stuck on the third.

“What the hell’s a heart of fire anyway?” Dean demands, slamming a book on ancient monsters down onto the table. 

“Maybe someone passionate about something?” Sam rubs his forehead, reaching for his cup of coffee. He takes a sip, making a face as the cold liquid slid down his throat. They hadn’t exactly been eating well recently. 

“I’m not gonna carve the heart out of someone,” Dean snaps, although that was not anything close to what Sam was implying. Dean groans, “I’m gonna get another beer.”

It’s only 9 AM.

Sam sighs, flipping helplessly through his own book. It’s the one on angels that Castiel annotated. Sam can’t help but feel like there must be something involved, after all, the Cage was designed to hold angels. His eyes catch one of Cas’ notes near the chapter heading about Grace.

_ It is like our lifeblood. _

_ Blood _ . The thing connected to the heart...Sam pushes to his feet, running to Castiel’s room. He tugs open the second drawer, rummaging around until he pulls out a small vial of Castiel’s grace. It glowed faintly, not unlike a candle... _ heart of fire _ . 

“This might just work,” Sam announces triumphantly, holding up the vial as he makes his way into the kitchen.

Dean’s face darkens as he realizes what Sam’s referring to. “That’s Cas’ grace!” he says defensively, fingers tightening around the bottle of beer, “We can’t use that!”

“Dean, he left these for us to use,” Sam replies calmly, “And--”

“What if he needs it? When he gets back?” Dean’s voice is slightly vulnerable, eyes wide as he watches Sam.

“This is what’s going to help us get him back,” Sam is quiet, trying to come up with the right thing to say to convince Dean, “We’ll use his ingredients sparingly...but don’t you think Cas would rather we try his grace than cut someone’s heart out?”

Bingo. Dean sags in his chair. “Fine. We’ll try the grace.” He takes another long gulp of his beer, handing the bottle to Sam for his brother to finish it off. Dreading what’s coming ahead, Sam downs the liquid in one gulp. Sam’s got a feeling they’re going to be going through a lot more alcohol after they sort out everything with Lucifer.

Both brothers are eager for this to be over, so naturally Crowley takes his time. First having them sign the contract he’s drafted up with a black crayon (which the Winchesters have to read thoroughly, knowing Crowley’s double crossing nature). Next, it’s setting up the spell, painting all the right lines and symbols and listening to Crowley’s grating “are you boys sure you’ve done this correctly?”

While neither Winchester wants to admit it, though, they are worried about doing things correctly. If other plans of theirs were playing with fire, this is reaching their hands into the flames and hoping they won’t get burned. Which is why, to Sam’s amazement, Dean bites his tongue and carefully smears the sigil of lamb’s blood, holy oil and ash to Crowley’s instructions.

When it’s finally ready, Dean grabs Sam’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be here for this, you know.”

Sam doesn’t look at Dean, he doesn’t want his brother to know just how terrified he is of what is to come. Instead he takes a deep breath, licking his lips and gripping his brother’s sleeve to steady himself. “I have to,” his voice is gruff, “Nobody knows Lucifer better than me.”

It’s true, though Dean hates to admit it.

“You boys ready, or are you having another moment?” Crowley’s voice pulls the whole thing along. Dean leaves Sam’s side to drop the ingredients into a small metal bowl while Crowley chants, his eyes going red. There’s a loud bang, Crowley crumples and…

Laughter. Obnoxious, mocking laughter. 

Sam’s stomach clenches, fingers balling into fists as he forces himself to look up. The figure in the center is a smokey grey, but it’s most definitely Lucifer. He looks a little worse for wear, clothes torn and face bloody, but the devil still holds himself like he’s the most attractive thing in the room.

_ That always was his way _ , Sam thinks, recalling all their interactions in the Cage with an aching twinge,  _ Flattery and intimidation working hand in hand _ .

“The Winchesters,” Lucifer croons, but his eyes never leave Sam’s face, “To what do I owe this great pleasure?”

“The Mark,” Dean growls. It goes to show how much they’ve grown used to dealing with, these last few years, because Dean doesn’t once bat an eyelash at the sight of the  _ devil _ in his basement.

Lucifer’s eyebrows raise and his lips curl into a smirk. “Oho, now this is a plot twist. The Righteous Man took on my Mark?” He lifts a hand, finger beckoning towards Dean. To Sam’s horror, Dean takes a hesitant step closer. Lucifer frowns. “Huh, not as strong as I was hoping…”

His eyes finally leave Sam to look at Dean. “You got  _ rid _ of it?” Lucifer’s voice is full of revulsion, “You stupid, stupid little mud monkey.”

“We didn’t know what would happen,” Dean looks visibly shaken, but he tries to hold his ground, “Still don’t.”

“You released The Darkness,” Lucifer’s brow furrows, “...and yet, I cannot feel it.” He looks around the Bunker, mildly curious.

“What is the Darkness?”

“It’s a place...one that should be shrouding your pathetic Earth at this very moment…”

“The Darkness took Cas.”

And then the devil is laughing again, his laugh bouncing off the walls of the Bunker. Sam wraps his arms around himself protectively, trying not to get pulled back into a flashback. He tries to focus on his breathing. Slowly in. Slowly out. It’s not working too well, Sam is shaking.

“Turns out the broken angel’s good for something, huh?” Lucifer smirks, “Gotta say...karma feels pretty good right now, after that seraph stole my favorite plaything.” He winks at Sam.

“What happened?”

“What happened?” Lucifer laughs, “Your boyfriend is the only thing keeping the Darkness contained. A place cannot exist without a life. Without him, the Darkness would be everywhere and you would be gone.”

Silence. Dean scratches at his forearm, where the Mark used to be, glaring at Lucifer. “We want him back.”

“And you think I’ll help?”

That quiets Dean, who looks worriedly at Sam. They haven’t thought that far ahead. Naturally. Seems like all their plans these days are them running headfirst into danger. 

Lucifer chuckles, his form taking a step closer to Sam. “I  _ will _ help,” he claps a hand to Sam’s shoulder. Even though his form is incorporeal, Sam still shivers. “For old times sake,” Lucifer whispers.

Sam jerks away, trying to keep his emotions under control. “What do we do?”

“First, you’ll need to find a doorway to the Darkness.”

“Doorway?”

“The way a devil’s gate is a doorway to Hell,” Lucifer shrugs, “Though I can’t tell you what a doorway to the Darkness will even look like. It’s not like anyone’s ever had the chance to explore before.”

He steps closer to Sam, running his fingers through Sam’s hair. Sam freezes, breath coming out in harsh little gusts. The world is starting to spin and Sam can’t quite find a way to make it stop.

“What next?” Dean growls, hefting a blade. 

“You’ll have to unlock it with Castiel’s halo,” Lucifer replies flippantly, as though an angelic halo is the easiest thing in the world to come by, “Then find Castiel and bring him back, all while braving whatever strange unknowns this new world possesses. Easy stuff, really.”

“Child’s play,” Dean retorts sarcastically. There’s a hint of embarrassment as well, for someone who considered himself closest to the angel, Dean certainly hadn’t had a clue that Castiel possessed an actual, real life  _ halo _ .

“Why are you helping us?” Sam asks suspiciously. He knows firsthand that nothing from Lucifer comes without a steep price. It feels like there’s something obvious that he’s missing, but with most of his attention diverted to managing his overwhelming anxiety, well, all bets on logical deductions are off.

“I told you,” Lucifer’s voice softens, his hand moving to caress Sam’s cheek, “Old time’s sake.”

He leans in closer and Sam whimpers, unable to move. Sam closes his eyes, unable to face what he knows must be coming. He’s had this dream before, too many times, but as of late it had faded. Sam can’t quite wrap his head around it being real once again. There’s a loud clatter and Sam’s eyes fly open to see...Lucifer is gone.

Dean stares back at him, the bowl of ingredients overturned. Then Sam’s legs give out and the world goes black.

He wakes up in his bed. 

For a brief moment, Sam considers the whole ordeal one unpleasantly realistic nightmare, but that thought is disputed by the unusually cold spot on his forehead. Sam opens his eyes to see Dean hovering over him, icepack pressed to Sam’s forehead.

“Thank goodness you’re awake,” Dean mutters gruffly, “I’ve been holding this stupid bag on your head for an hour now.”

Sam takes that to mean Dean’s profusely relieved he’s woken up.

Delicately, Sam takes the ice pack from Dean, holding it to his head as he sits up. The motion hurts and Sam winces, leading Dean to lean in even more as if to catch him. Sam feels a hot rush of annoyance; Dean is not normally this attentive, and he seems to have forgotten that Sam can take care of himself.

The annoyance grows as Sam realizes the immense number of unanswered questions they were left with after Lucifer’s disappearance. “Why did you get rid of him?” he snaps, knowing full well it’s not the best way to start things off with Dean.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dean’s voice is the furthest thing from apologetic, “I forgot you  _ liked _ psychological torture.”

“We needed information!”

“I’m  _ not _ letting anyone get hurt on my watch!” Dean’s voice is rising, “Standing back and watching him do that to you might has well have been torturing you myself.”

_ Oh.  _

Sam wants to stay angry, but he’s got an idea of what Dean must be going through. When Sam realized what he’d done without a soul, the people he’d used and hurt...he’d wanted to throw away his weapons then and there and make a vow of peace. Lock himself in a room.  _ Something _ that would ensure nobody else was harmed because of him.

He’d sworn to protect the innocent, after all, and going against that...it had made him into a monster. And Sam hadn’t even had to deal with inflicting harm on people he truly cared about, those people hadn’t let him get that far.

“Sorry,” Sam murmurs, looking down. The last thing he wants is to add to Dean’s massive load of guilt.

Dean sags in the chair. “I know it was rash,” he says softly, running a hand through his hair, “And if it had been me in your place, I would have said keep going, but...you didn’t see your face…”

“We’ll find another way,” Sam says firmly, slowly making his way to standing. His head protests slightly, but Sam ignores it. “We always do.”

“How?” Dean grips the arm of the chair as he stands, fingers tense and strained, “We’ve got to find an entrance to a world that’s never existed before now, find an angelic halo that we had no clue about, make our way through the most dangerous place we’ve ever heard of  _ all _ while trying to get to Cas before he gets killed...or worse.”

He’s got a hint of hysteria in his voice as he makes his way to Sam’s table, where the  _ Yellowstone Moose _ sits prominently. Dean picks up the book, thumbing through the pages desperately, almost as though searching for clues.

“Because,” Sam peeks over Dean’s shoulder, smiling sadly at the cheerfully illustrated book that Castiel had thoughtfully chosen for him, “We always find a way.”

He reaches across Dean to grab the book on angels. If there’s a place to start, this is it. He flips it open as Dean sits on the bed, still staring at the picture book. “What’d you do with Crowley?”

“Locked him up again,” Dean doesn’t look up, “We’ve got two weeks to hook him up with the gear he demanded.”

“Or?”

Dean grimaces. “He take our souls.”

“Ah.” 

Figures. Even with a crayon drawn contract, Crowley was still ruthless. Still, Sam can’t help but notice the souls weren’t Crowley’s primary focus. He would wonder more heavily about Crowley’s reasoning, but there are far bigger things to worry about.

Sam closes the book to see Dean looking absolutely sick. “Let’s go get the stuff now,” Sam suggests, “It’s early enough in the afternoon.”

“How’s that gonna help?”

“Well, it will mean we get to keep our souls…” Sam frowns as Dean makes an irreverent noise at that, “ _ and _ , I was thinking we could start finding things to furnish Cas’ room with.”

That does it, Dean looking up at Sam with an expression of mingled fear, sadness and hope. “Cas?”

“He’ll need a room, right? One that doesn’t look like a crime scene.”

“Cas can have the one next to mine,” Dean throws out quickly. It’s clear he’s given this topic some thought. 

Sam raises his eyebrows, mildly surprised. “Okay,” he tries to sound unphased, “So he’s got a room, now we’ve just got to make sure it’s adequately furnished.”

Dean looks torn, glancing down at the picture book in his hands, then back at Sam. 

“We do have to go out for Crowley’s demands anyway,” Sam prods gently.

Dean relents. “We’re gonna need a comforter and a couple of pillows for Cas,” he says, voice taking on command as he closes the book and stands up, “Not to mention books, decorations and a few changes of clothes.”

Sam nods, falling in step with Dean as they make their way out of the room and towards the car. “Do you have the list for Crowley?”

Dean’s face darkens as he pulls the crudely written contract out of his jacket pocket. “Aside from the recliner, he wants a mini fridge filled with alcohol, a flat screen television, a face mask and several specific porn mags.”

Sam huffs a laugh as he clamors into the passenger seat of the Impala. “Classy.”

The drive to Hastings is uneventful. Dean cranks up some Van Halen and doesn’t say a word. Sam can’t blame him, there was a lot Lucifer had said that he had to wrap his head around. Sam was personally left kicking himself over Castiel’s sacrifice. How could he have not noticed the angel was planning something? Worse, if Sam had known...would he still have let Castiel follow through on it? Sam’s sick to his stomach knowing he probably would have. 

They end up at Sears, Sam wondering how they’re going to get a recliner chair home as they start browsing. Dean powers through Crowley’s order quickly, but is somehow impossibly torn when it comes to choosing a comforter for Cas. “I never asked what his favorite color was,” Dean mutters, as though Castiel will refuse to sleep in a bed that isn’t properly colored.

“Maybe the color is less important than the type of comforter?” Sam suggests, relieved that Dean and him are talking. He hates the prolonged silence. Too much time in his own head for Sam’s liking.

Dean nods. “He’d probably want something soft.”

They eventually settle on a downy white comforter, one that will be soft enough for the angel, but might also remind him of Heaven. This, Dean grudgingly admits, might be a place that Castiel misses.

Thankfully the selection of pillows goes faster, Dean grabbing a couple fluffy ones and even going out of his way to find a fancy memory-foam pillow. “I think he’ll like memory foam,” Dean says as though he’s a leading expert on the cause and Sam knows better than to protest. Truthfully, Sam likes seeing Dean this way, relaxed and almost domestic. It’s very different from the strong hunter image Dean works so hard to maintain when he thinks someone might be looking.

There’s also a bee calendar they find in the clearance section, as well as a nice mug that says “Home Sweet Home.” Sam tries not to think about the fact that Cas may never get to enjoy any of these things.

In the end, they’ve got two carts full of supplies that need to be crammed into the Impala.

Unfortunately, the drive back is enough to remind them both of the enormity of the task at hand.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice is husky as they’re working together to carry a mini-fridge into the Bunker, “Do you think I’ve been seeing Cas?”

It’s a theory Sam would have immediately brushed away earlier. After all, Dean’s got a strange tendency to hold onto hope. To the point he once fabricated an entire memory of Castiel in Purgatory, one where he lost his grip on Cas’ hand rather than the truth, where Castiel let go and refused to return. 

Still, they now know for sure that Castiel is alive. And he’s been able to contact them via dreams before. While this theory is still somewhat questionable, it also oddly holds up. 

“I don’t know,” Sam answers honestly. 

They don’t speak as they enter the dungeon, ignoring Crowley as they put down the mini-fridge. Dean leaves to grab the alcohol while Sam fumbles with trying to make sure the fridge is able to plug in. The recliner is more difficult, they had to tie that one down in open trunk and it’s proving just as difficult to get inside.

When Crowley’s agreement is finally settled (they check, of course, to ensure their souls are intact), and they can finally settle down in the living room with a few beers, Dean speaks again.

“When I spoke to Cas last...he wanted me to stop looking.”

Sam chokes on his drink, sending him into a fit of coughing. “What?”

“Told me to stop looking. He knows how dangerous it must be.”

“You’re not actually thinking we’re not going to, right?” Sam looks up at his brother, eyes wide. He’s seen how Dean acts when he thinks nobody’s looking, how Dean leaves just enough space next to him when sitting to accommodate an angel or looks over his shoulder at any abrupt sound. For Dean to be giving up…

“No, ‘course not,” Dean looks pensive, taking a long swig of alcohol, “I’m just thinking...when we go into the Darkness, when we finally work that out...it should just be me that goes in after him.”

Sam glares. “We just sacrificed everything to get you back.”

“And that’s the whole reason Cas is in this mess!” Dean retorts, standing up so abruptly the beer sloshes in the bottle. He storms to the other couch, “He gave himself up for me, I’m going to be the one risking my life for him.”

The blame, though unspoken, hangs heavy in the air. Bitter. Sam clenches and unclenches his fists, furious at the implications. That this was on him. That Dean was all but punishing him by insisting to go in alone. It would be Purgatory all over again, but this time Sam had only just gotten his brother back.

“Fuck you,” Sam growls, “I’m not sitting this one out.”

Dean’s eerily quiet. He leans back into the chair, taking long drinks and leaving Sam to wonder if his brother had even heard him. Then, “What makes you think you have a choice?”

_ crash _

Sam’s beer bottle smashes against the floors as he stands, furious. He crunches over the broken glass, pointing an accusing finger at Dean. “Because I am  _ not _ going to let my brother throw his life away over a guilt that isn’t entirely on him.” 

He swallows, “You wanna blame someone? Stop blaming yourself and blame me for pressuring Cas into it. Hell, blame Cas. That bastard is the one who took on the responsibility of the Darkness without telling us. But stop putting this all on you!”

Sam adds a dark laugh, “And even if you don’t? I’m still going with you. That much is final. Cas means something to me too, you know.”

There’s a tense silence. Sam’s all but waiting for Dean to fight back, ready to verbally spar with his brother, anger flowing through his veins. What he’s not expecting, however, is for Dean’s head to drop and his shoulder slump.

“I can’t lose you both,” Dean says in a small voice.

From a distance, Sam can hear the hum of the heater. A glance at the floor reveals the sticky beer and sharp glass shards of his bottle. Everything seems off. Dean always fights back.

“You won’t,” Sam says softly, finding himself sitting on the arm of the leather couch, “Dean, I’m capable. And Cas is too. You don’t have to worry about us.”

“The Darkness? That’s because of me,” Dean runs a hand up and down his leg, “And it’s been bad enough just dealing with losing Cas. But now...if I hurt you too…”

“If I get hurt,” Sam replies firmly, “That’s on the realm of the Darkness. Not you.”

Dean’s quiet. 

_ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

Dean’s head shoots up, eyes confused. Sam frowns, if he didn’t know better, he’d say there was a knock on the Bunker door. But that couldn’t be. Anyone who knew about the Bunker, unfortunately, seemed to end up dead.

_ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

Sam’s eyes find Dean’s, but his older brother looks just as confused.

“Rowena?” Sam ventures, a jolt of worry running through him. Of  _ course _ it has to be today. When they’re most vulnerable, having just dealt with Lucifer this morning and worry about the enormity of the task of finding a lost angel.

“That  _ bitch _ ,” Dean growls, setting his bottle down.

_ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

It’s almost sad how quickly they are able to arm themselves. Dean wields his favorite sawed off shotgun, while Sam favors the demon killing knife. He knows Rowena isn’t a demon, but still...the blade works just as well on mortals.

The one downside of their door is that, unlike a modern door, there is no way to tell who, or  _ what _ awaits. Admittedly, the creators probably doubted their secret society’s most important hiding spot would be found.

Sam nods to Dean, who cocks his shotgun as Sam swings the door open.

His heart drops at the sight of the person in the doorway.

_ Cas _ .

Well, not quite. Not the Castiel Sam remembers. Castiel’s hair is dirty, almost greasy as it hangs in his eyes. His face sports a thick spread of stubble, more than when he’d returned from Purgatory, and the bags under his red-rimmed eyes look darker than usual.

Gone is his familiar tie and trench coat. Instead, Castiel is clad in a loose blue shirt that hangs open at his collarbone. His pants are equally loose and his feet are bare. An assortment of leather straps and bracelets adorn one wrist. 

But the eyes, still brilliantly blue, those are painfully familiar.

Sam looks wordlessly from the person (Was it Cas? Could it really be Cas?) to Dean and is stunned to see Dean’s jaw hanging open. Dean  _ recognizes _ the man in the doorway in a way that Sam does not, as though he’s seen this particular version of Castiel before. 

His grip on the blade slackens and his arm falls to his side. Dean’s worse off, swaying slightly, hands trembling as he lowers the gun. 

“ _ Cas? _ ” Dean’s voice is desperate, hoarse.

The person in the doorway (Is that Cas? Could it really be Cas?) smiles. It’s an odd, somewhat joyless grin, but a smile all the same. 

“In the flesh,” that gravelly voice is painfully familiar, “You, uh, gonna let me in?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's a crazy week (I'm graduating college nbd) which means y'all might be only getting one update this week. But it's an epic chapter so I hope that makes up for it! As always, thanks for all the comments and support.


	9. And You Are?

_ There’s no way.  _ That’s all Dean can think, his brain practically short circuiting at the painfully familiar sight. It’s not just that it’s Cas, though seeing his familiar trench-coat clad friend wouldn’t have gone over well, it’s that it’s  _ this _ Cas. So different from the man Dean is used to, so broken and abandoned and still incredibly loyal.

Slowly, Dean inches forwards until he’s poking this thing  _ Cas is gone. Cas is lost in the Darkness. This is not Cas. _ with the barrel of his gun. 

“Classy,” the being said, carrying the familiar voice that makes Dean’s heart  _ ache _ at the sound of. “You can run all the tests, holy water, blood...but you’re gonna get the same results. Still me.”

“How?” Sam’s voice is brittle, though his grip on the demon blade is firm, “Lucifer said you were in the Darkness.”

The thing’s eyes widen, though they remain slightly glassy and red rimmed. “Lucifer, huh…” he mumbles to himself, a shiver running down his spine before he seems to get ahold of himself, “The thing about the Darkness is, time and space don’t exist. Not the way they do here. Wherever  _ here _ is. I thought I’d get back to my time…”

Sam’s brow furrows, “Your time?”

A shot of fear runs through Dean. He’s never told Sam about the 2014 future. How could he? As soon as he’d made it back to his own time, Dean had vowed to never see that future come to fruition. Apparently, though, some things could not be avoided.

Castiel just grins manically. “You’re still you. I like this time better.”

Sam opens his mouth then closes it again. 

“Prove you’re you,” Dean snaps, jabbing him with the gun again. He doesn’t really understand what Castiel is saying to begin with. All he knows is something that looks a hell of a lot like his best friend is standing in the doorway babbling about time and space. 

There’s a scruffy smirk from the blue-eyed being. “You’ve got a long scar above your right hip, something about a run in with a particularly vicious werewolf.”

Dean can feel his cheeks heating up as Sam swings around to gape at his brother. It’s true, he got that scar a couple months after being pulled from Hell. It was his first real scar after Castiel went out of his way to heal him and he went out of his way to make sure it didn’t heal correctly so it left a mark. Some sort of proof that he really  _ did  _ fight monsters.

Why  _ Cas _ knows about this new scar is something Dean wonders, but is far too afraid to ask. Thankfully, Sam doesn’t press either, though he does give Dean a look that says they’ll be discussing the scar later. No doubt teasing will be involved.

“Fine,” Dean snaps, slowly lowering the shotgun, “You  _ might _ be Cas. But what are you doing here?”

Castiel shrugs. “Same as all the others. I’ve been trying to find you.”

“The others?”

“I’m not the only Castiel there has been.”

Well, it was a relief to know Cas was just as cryptic as he’d always been. Dean lets out a hysterical bark of laughter, a desperate release of the pent up tension. This isn’t really funny, per se. After all, this whole appearance of Castiel is only raising more questions than it answers, but if Dean doesn’t laugh, he’s honestly not sure  _ what _ sort of reaction he’d have. Certainly not a tame one.

“The Darkness is a new realm, currently untouched by Earthly restraints like space and time,” Castiel continues, “And the borders are…” he hesitates, “unstable at best.”

“So you, what? Slipped through the cracks?” Sam says, tilting his head as he stares at Cas like he’s some sort of new scientific discovery.

“Essentially,” Castiel shrugs.

Both Winchesters are silent. 

Castiel sighs dramatically. “You two are  _ very _ different from the Winchesters I know,” he throws his hands up, “If you’re going to to gape at me like an animal in a zoo, I’d at least like to smoke something. Something strong if you’ve got it.”

Sam makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a cough. “You get high?”

“Generally. It’s not like I’m worth anything sober, not without my grace.”

It’s flippant, the comment, but Dean can’t help feel a surge of guilt. This couldn’t have been the first time Cas has felt worthless, it’s just the only time that he doesn’t have a filter about it. “Sam?” Dean barks, “A word?” 

He grabs Sam’s arm, leading him down the hallway, pausing only to whip around and point the shotgun at Castiel. “If you pull anything? I’m taking you down,” Dean threatens, the guilt tightening around his heart knowing that he very well might be threatening the real Cas. But they’re still not 100% certain and, after everything, better safe than sorry.

“What the hell?” Dean demands as soon as he’s alone with Sam in the kitchen. 

“I think I’m more entitled to questions than you,” Sam snaps, setting his knife down. “ _ You _ actually knew this...whatever this version of Cas is.”

The air hangs heavy around them, Dean finally setting down the shotgun on the counter and leaning against it with most of his weight, as though he’d collapse without some sort of sustained contact. The guilt and fear taste bitter in his throat, it feels as though if he opened his mouth, the whole place would be consumed by the pain.

“Zachariah took me into a future where you said yes to the devil,” Dean says finally, staring at his calloused hands, at the floor, anywhere but at Sam, “I’d become...worse than Dad. Losing you pushed me to a place I never want to be in again. You’d said yes to Lucifer and Cas…” Dean gulps as the realization slams him in the chest, “Cas didn’t just lose his grace...he lost us. He lost  _ me _ .”

Dean tries to focus on the pattern of the kitchen tiles as it grows harder and harder to breathe. Black and white and the occasional inexplicable green square pepper the floor, which hasn’t been swept in ages. “It drove him off the edge, man,” Dean mutters, “When I showed up, Cas was constantly high on something or another, having sex with anything that breathed...but he was still fucking loyal. Right to the very end.”

“He died?” Sam’s voice isn’t strained, more soft and curious. 

“I watched myself set Cas up to take the fall,” Dean whispers. He doesn’t want to think about the parallels between that 2014 and their own universe, where Dean all but set Castiel up to sacrifice himself to save Dean from the Mark of Cain.

“So…” Sam says after a while, picking up his knife and turning it idly in his hands, “Do you think the thing out in the Bunker is Cas?”

“Dunno. It  _ seems _ like him...but I’m still not sure about the whole Darkness thing.”

Sam huffs a laugh. “I don’t think anyone is. Kind of uncharted territory.”

“What is this place, anyway?” Cas’ voice interrupts their conversation, his messy dark head peering into the kitchen. Dean couldn’t help but notice his feet were bare.

“You’ve been here before,” Sam replies somewhat coolly, clearly suspicious of Castiel.

“Maybe part of me has,” Castiel replies, “But I’m not all Castiel. I’m only one part, one version...ask me about the end of the world, I can tell you plenty about that, but this military base with an unfortunate lack of weed?” he pads past Sam to poke his head into the refrigerator, retrieving a bottle of beer and cracking the cap open with a piece of metal dangling from one of his many bracelets, “No idea.”

He takes a long gulp of beer as the Winchesters find themselves once again staring. As much as Dean didn’t want to admit it, he’d grown used to the fact Castiel was gone, so it was already strange enough having him back. But having  _ this _ version back? It seemed like every version of Castiel Dean had interacted with so far only served to enhance his guilt: the broken, bloody Cas, the freshly human Cas and now this one?

Dean wonders vaguely if this is the universe trying to send him a message.

“So, uh, why are you here?” Sam asks, trying to pull himself together.

Castiel shrugs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The last thing I remember when I was me, well, all of me, was that I needed to make sure Dean was cured. I’ve kind of just been assuming it was the Croatoan virus, but...now I’m not so sure.”

“Mark of Cain,” Dean mutters dully, taking the bottle from Castiel and taking a chug. He looks back to see Cas staring at him with a look of...recognition? No, it’s more like camaraderie. 

The ex-angel throws back his head and laughs. It’s a brittle sound and it echoes in the kitchen in a way that only seems to enhance the sadness behind it. “Seems like no matter what version of the timeline I’m in, you Winchesters find one way or another to fuck things up.”

“Hey--” Dean growls, but Castiel cuts him off.

“I fuck things up too,” he replies sadly, “So I can’t really talk.” Cas reaches for the bottle, his fingers lingering on Dean’s for a moment before pulling away. 

Dean’s heart rate speeds up and he has the inexplicable urge to grab Cas’ hand and hold it tight. He reasons it must be because this all seems so surreal; he’s clearly just looking for a way to make sure it’s Castiel. 

His thoughts are interrupted as Sam clears his throat loudly. “So, Cas, how did you manage to escape?”

“My grace is, uh, not as strong of a barrier as I would like,” Castiel admits, “And besides, there’s some strong force that pulls me, all my versions of me, back to Earth.”

“So, why haven’t we seen any other versions of you?”

“I have,” Dean interrupts. Both Cas and Sam turn to stare at him. “He saved me from the Pied Piper, remember?” Sam purses his lips, but Dean continues, “And those dreams...they weren’t all in my head, were they?” 

Castiel shakes his head slightly. “I don’t think so, Dean.” He’s tilting his neck to one side, staring at Dean with intense curiosity. Once again, Dean feels a strange pull towards Cas. He decides it must be some lingering effect of the Darkness.

Sam clears his throat again. “Are you with us for good?”

“I doubt it,” Cas replies, “As I am not entirely myself. But I cannot be sure...the Darkness predates even angel lore.”

Silence falls in the kitchen. Castiel finishes the bottle, rummaging in the fridge for another. Sam shoots Dean a look that seems to say  _ you turned him into an alcoholic?  _ Dean, meanwhile, begins to wonder if his draw towards Cas comes from the fact he’d always imagined their reunion to involve a tight hug.

Finally, Sam stands up. “I’m gonna start looking into the lore, now that we’ve got more information. You wanna get Cas all set up?”

Dean glances up at Sam in confusion. Sam rolls his eyes and continues, “He’s going to have to stay with us, right? So show him around, get him in his bedroom before he decides he’s got to crash in a closet again.”

Castiel shoots them a look of mingled confusion and amusement as he opens his second bottle. Sam wavers for a second before making his way to Cas, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “It’s, uh, good to have you back. Even if you’re not all here yet.”

The smile on Cas’ face is gummy and genuine and he tugs Sam into a hug. “I’ve missed you, Sam Winchester.”

Sam hugs back, face relieved. Although his nose does wrinkle as he inhales the smell of drugs and sweat that linger on Castiel. That future hadn’t exactly been big on hygiene.

Dean frowns, feeling a strange surge of jealousy at their closeness.

And then Sam is on his way out, leaving Dean alone with Castiel. “You, uh, wanna get the tour?”

Cas finishes the bottle in one long gulp. “My pleasure.”

It’s strange, giving Cas a tour of the Bunker. Dean isn’t entirely sure they’ve done this before, not even when Castiel was first arriving. He feels a twinge of regret at the fact he’d just left the angel to fend for himself. As always.

Castiel is pleased by the fact the bathrooms are equipped with toilet paper and running water. He’s fascinated by the library and intrigued by the fact there’s a dungeon. He asks the occasional question about what the Winchesters have been up to and over all seems to be in very good spirits. Dean’s feeling cheerful as well, for the first time in months.

He’s especially excited to show Castiel his room (they’ve done it right this time, Cas has his own room. Furnished and decorated and everything) but, to his surprise, Cas seems disappointed by it.

“What’s wrong? We can get you different blankets, or...there’s other ways to decorate…”

Cas shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.”

But something most definitely is  _ not _ fine about it and for the life of him, Dean can’t figure out what.

Dean decides to show Cas his own room next. It’s right next door, and Cas seems to cheer up marginally by this fact. He even chuckles as Dean shows him the gift on the table. “Any clue what it is?”

Cas just laughs. “Not a clue.”

Dean’s heart surges, he can’t even begin to express how much he’s missed this. Castiel, in the Bunker. Castiel, happy. Roughly, he pulls Cas into a tight hug. The other man hums, gripping Dean’s shirt like he’s about to lose him. He can feel Cas’ heart pounding through his thin cotton shirt, his chest rising and falling against Dean’s….

...and then he can feel chapped lips against his. The scratch of stubble against his cheek. Dean’s brain all but short circuits.  _ They couldn’t be. Where they? _

He panics, pulling out of Cas’ grasp and stumbling, falling onto the bed.

“I forgot,” Cas says, voice sad, “You’re not drunk enough for this yet, are you?”

_ Drunk enough for what? _

Dean’s eyes are wide as he searches Castiel’s face, whose blue eyes are filling with realization. “Unless...you don’t...in this version you don’t...do you?”

So much is not being said, so much that Dean’s fairly certain he could make sense of in any other circumstance without things being spelt out, but this is different. This is  _ Cas _ . And Cas just...Cas just...and Dean, well, something deep inside Dean is roaring with approval, is begging for more…

It’s just all too much to take in.

Castiel runs a shaky hand through his already wild hair. “I’m not high enough to deal with something like this.”

And then he’s out of Dean’s room. A door slams nearby, so hard that it makes Dean’s lamp rattle. Dean presses his fingers to his lips, trying to put together the most recent events because Cas…

  
Castiel just kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I've been traveling, haven't really had much time to write. But I'm back! And I'm ready to crush this thing! As always, thank you for the comments and love. They really mean the world.


	10. Settling In

It’s been three days since Cas-- _ no, an echo of Cas _ \--Sam reminds himself, moved into the Bunker and it is even more strange than Sam could have expected. Of course, Sam never thought this would be easy. After all, the new arrival might look and sound like Castiel, but he didn’t act like him. At least, not the version Sam was used to.

End-Cas, as Sam had taken to calling him in his head, was much more of a presence than Castiel had been. He was louder, he swore like a sailor, he ate with great gusto and he lingered in the shower singing praises about the hot water. He’d managed to deplete their alcohol faster than Dean (an impressive feat) and somehow always managed to smell faintly of weed. 

This was all entirely off-putting by itself, but it was combined with the fact that Castiel had been strangely distant with Dean. Then again, Dean had been trying hard to avoid Castiel. Which didn’t make much sense, especially as it seemed every time the three of them were in the same room together, Sam had caught Dean staring at Cas.

“So,” Cas announces during breakfast, eating the bacon on his plate with his fingers, “When are you guys gonna cue me in on what we’re doing?”

Breakfast today was bacon and eggs. They’d run out of bread yesterday, likely because Cas had taken to eating it straight out of the bag as a snack, otherwise there would have also been toast. They were running dangerously low on most food stuffs, Cas seemed to eat twice as much as either Winchester. 

Sam couldn’t help but notice Dean poking at his breakfast with little interest. This wasn’t a new occurrence, and Sam had gotten especially good at remedying it, but he’d hoped that with Castiel’s return, Dean’s appetite would too. Instead, it had managed to plummet even further, if that was possible. 

“You don’t need to know,” Dean grumbles, fumbling for his coffee cup before taking a long gulp. Sam frowns. Dean must be distracted if he’s taking his coffee black, he’d taken to mixing in sugar and cream ever since they discovered the solitary and non-judgemental confines of the Bunker.

“I do if I’m going to help,” Cas snaps, finishing off his strip of bacon and reaching over to snatch the bacon off Dean’s plate, “Which, by the way, is what you keep me around for.”

Dean’s face darkens at the bacon theft, but he says nothing. No playful grumbling, no banter...nothing. He just pokes at his eggs again.

Sam clears his throat. “We just don’t have much of a lead,” he says, setting down his fork, “You don’t seem to know much about the physical entrance to the Darkness.”

“What about that bitch Rowena?” Cas asks, mouth full from the stolen bacon.

Sam flinches, the flippant swearing from Cas is still far too foreign. “What about her?”

“Couldn’t I help hunt her down with you two?”

Dean and Sam share a look. 

“No,” Dean says loudly.

“But--”

“I said no!” Dean’s voice rises as he slams his fork down with a clatter. It’s enough to make Sam jump slightly, but the violence doesn’t affect Cas in the slightest. He sends Dean a piercing glare before he resumes eating, devouring the eggs with his fingers.

“We just don’t know how safe it would be,” Sam asserts, taking a tentative bite of his own eggs. Might as well finish them off before they get cold and the eggs are already lukewarm at best. “Or what you getting hurt might do to the Darkness.”

“Or to the rest of you,” Dean adds, developing a strange fixation for his own eggs, which he still does not try to eat. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He looks up at Cas, who meets his eyes and softens slightly. Cas is looking at Dean in a way that Sam has never seen before, one he can’t quite put his finger on. But the moment is gone quickly, Dean awkwardly clearing his throat before picking up his fork to finally, much to Sam’s relief, start eating his breakfast.

“I still want to help, though,” Cas grumbles, “And as wonderful as this place is, outfitted with all the amenities a guy could need, I’m getting sick and tired of being cooped up in this damn Bunker.”

“You could come grocery shopping with me,” Sam replies, finishing his eggs and starting on the bacon before Cas could steal that too. One look at Cas, though, and Sam instantly regrets his invitation. Castiel, in his open cotton shirt, ripped jeans and bare feet, looked pretty close to crazy. One of those guys that would even turn heads in Walmart. Secretly, Sam hopes Cas will decline the offer.

No such luck. In fact, Cas’ face lights up. “A shopping date with Sam Winchester?” these days most things Castiel said were laced in heavy sarcasm, “I’d love that!” Unfortunately, the latter bit sounds all too sincere.

Sam glances at Dean, hoping his brother might snap some helpful retort, but his brother’s face is an unusual blend of relief and looking like he’d just sucked on a lemon. Right. Sam forgot the two of them were acting weird around each other. Though perhaps this version of Castiel would be more forthcoming if pressed. Maybe some good could come out of this joint shopping trip after all. 

“You’re on Rowena duty while we’re gone,” Sam says gruffly. He finishes off his bacon, which isn’t as satisfying when Cas is staring him down while he eats it, and proceeds to clear both his and Cas’ empty plates. Dean’s, on the other hand, is still mostly full. “Well, you’re on Rowena duty after you’ve finished your plate.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Sam can feel Castiel watching them with interest. He turns to see Cas grinning to himself. 

“I’ve missed this,” Cas says in answer to Sam’s unasked question, “You. Dean. Both of you happy.”

This comment gives Sam pause. They had seemed happier of late. But all of that had to do with Castiel’s familiar, though also especially strange, presence in the Bunker. He wants to say so too, wants to tell Castiel just how important he is, but Dean interrupts.

“Shouldn’t you guys be getting more food?”

Cas’ face falls, hands flapping awkwardly at his side for a moment before swinging to clasp in front of himself. A protective gesture. “I see I’ve overstayed my welcome,” he says finally, the disappointment thick in his voice, “I’ll wait in the car, Sam.”

Sam whips his head around to confront Dean, but the words quiet in his throat as he sees just how unhappy Dean looks at Castiel’s absence. “Dean…”

Dean glances around, as though making sure they were alone, before blurting out. “He kissed me.”

_ Oh _ .

The awkward exchanges, the tense silences, the fact they both tried to avoid the other….

“Did you…?”

“No!”

Sam’s brow knits. He’s known that Dean having an attraction to men might not be outside the realm of possibilities. After all, Sam’s been there to observe plenty of...interesting interactions between Dean and other guys throughout the years. But Dean hasn’t said anything, so neither has Sam. 

“Sam?” Dean asks, pulling Sam from his thoughts. Sam nods, looking Dean in the eye to signal he’s listening. “Do you think that all Cas,  _ our _ Cas….do you think he feels this way?”

He considers lying. It might be easier for both of them if he just lied. But if Sam is right in his theory about Dean and Dean’s attraction to guys...well, Cas and Dean deserved a little happiness in their lives. “Yes,” Sam replies firmly.

Dean swallows, his jaw twitching as he clenches his hands together. One brief squeeze before he pushes to standing so quickly that the chair squeaks against the floor; Sam wouldn’t be surprised if it left a mark. He’s out the door without another word, plate of half finished eggs sitting cold on the table. 

“Everything alright?” Cas’ head pokes into the kitchen curiously, “You’re not having one of those big, life changing fights, right?”

“He just needs some space,” Sam says, shaking his head. He can’t help but look at this Castiel in a whole new light. End-Cas, unlike the regular Cas, had the guts to kiss Dean point blank. Then again, End-Cas probably experienced a very different Dean than the one Sam was used to.

Sam almost starts laughing. Here he is, trying to make sense of Dean and Castiel’s relationship, as though there isn’t monsters, or Rowena, or the Darkness itself to try and figure out. And at the pace his brother and friend are progressing, the other problems might be worked out before their relationship is.

“Does that mean we should leave for the store?” Cas peers down the hallway, genuine concern etched on his face as he looks for Dean. “Will he be okay alone?”

“He’ll be fine,” Sam gently guides the barefoot Castiel out of the kitchen and to the garage. They have to stop there, of course, for Castiel to gape at all the other vehicles.

“These are a lot nicer than the military jeeps,” he notes, fingertips trailing along the hood of a blue 1947 Buick Roadmaster. “I’m surprised you guys still drive the same car.”

“Well, a car that old would stand out,” Sam points out, waiting patiently as Cas pokes the seat of a sports car from the 1930s. “Besides, Dean in another car?”

Cas chuckles. “Blasphemy.” The grin fades off his face as he finally manages to tear himself away from the other cars and make his way into the Impala. “It was a bad day when Dean abandoned this.”

“Yeah?”

Cas nods grimly, strapping on his seatbelt in the passenger side. “He wouldn’t speak to anyone. He wouldn’t even look at me, even after…” Cas’ eyes flick worriedly to Sam and he shuts his mouth.

“Were you two close?” Sam asks hesitantly, revving the engine as he backs out of the bunker’s garage. It’s dry outside, so the dirt road kicks up a good amount of dust. Sam will have to inspect the exterior when they get into town to determine whether or not he should try and get the car cleaned. Dean hates when his car is messy, inside or out.

The nervous laughter is harsh. “You could say that.”

Sam sighs, turning onto the highway. “You don’t have to play games with me, Cas. I know about the kiss.”

Castiel sags in his seat, somehow managing to look twice as small. His bracelets clink as he runs a hand through his hair, looking pointedly out the window. Not that Sam can blame him, it’s clearly a complicated subject for both of them to broach.

“You have to understand,” Cas says, though his blue eyes are still trained on the passing cars, “Things were different where I was.  _ Dean _ was different.”

“Were you lovers?” Sam can’t help it. That projected future makes him curious, especially as Dean still won’t talk much about it.

Castiel laughs so hard his head arches back, but it’s a laugh devoid of any happiness. “We slept together from time to time,” he answers between heaving chuckles, “But lovers? Nah. I was fallen.  _ Dean _ was fallen.”

“Dean?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one, Sam,” Cas’ voice has taken a brittle edge to it as he turns to face Sam. “Dean lost everything he loved when he lost you. Hell, lost the ability to love. So, yeah. He was fallen. He stopped loving the moment I started to.”

Cas’ voice is so cold that it sends shivers down Sam’s back. The worst part is, Sam can imagine the scenario clearly. Castiel, this newly human, newly emboldened Cas, pursuing the very person he chose to fall for...and Dean being nothing but harsh in return. Still, one aspect didn’t make sense...

“But...you guys slept together.”

“Dean needed physical comfort. I was more than willing to provide.”

An awkward silence settles in the car. Sam pretends not to hear Castiel muttering something about “needing Percocet,” it’s still far too strange to think that Castiel has become a junkie. Finally, when Sam can’t take it anymore, he rummages through the box of cassettes, trying to find one.

To his relief, Castiel seems distracted by the cassettes. In fact, the pain and anger all seems to evaporate. Sam plunges in a tape of AC/DC’s greatest hits and turns on the radio when he hears a soft gasp from Cas.

The angel’s blue eyes are soft and full of longing as he holds a particular cassette in his hands. “Cas’ Music Education.”

“Did...did he make this for me?” 

And suddenly, it doesn’t sound like End-Cas speaking. Gone is the defensive sarcasm, the devil-may-care attitude. Instead, it’s replaced with something softer, the tone of voice Castiel adopted when talking about animals he’d managed to pet for that day, or waxing nostalgic about family and humanity.

“Yeah…” Sam sighs, “Never got the balls to actually let you listen to it, though.” He falters, aware of how longingly Cas is staring at the mix-tape. The guy is practically stroking the thing, his thumb running along the familiar scribbly handwriting on the label. Sam wonders if Cas has ever gotten a gift at all.

“Do you want to..?” he begins hesitantly.

But Cas shakes his head, sliding the tape almost reverently into his pocket. “I, uh...I’d like to listen to it with Dean, if that’s okay.”

“He cares about you, you know.”

Sam doesn’t mean to blurt it out, but he can’t help it.

“He cares about what I can do,” Cas tries to correct him, but his voice is starting to lack conviction. He pats the pocket that holds the cassette, almost as though fearful it doesn’t truly exist. It does; Cas breathes a sigh of relief.

“Honestly?” Sam’s tempted to pull over, but he also knows that Castiel is almost as emotionally constipated as Dean. If Cas is talking now, Sam’s not going to lose that momentum by trying to stop the car. “He’s tearing himself apart trying to figure out how to save you from the Darkness. Not because of your grace or your fighting skills, but because it’s  _ you _ . And Dean can barely function with the thought that you’re gone.”

Cas frowns. 

_ That’s not supposed to be the reaction to finding out the guy you love probably loves you back.  _ Sam thinks to himself as he pulls off the highway and into the small town of Hastings.

Cas is this way all the way into the parking lot of Russ’s Market, quiet and brooding, until Sam can’t take it.

“What’s the matter?” he snaps as they enter the store. Sam grabs a cart, knowing full well they’re going to need one for a grocery run of this proportion. “I just basically told you that my brother is in love with you, isn’t that a big deal?” 

“It is,” Cas grabs a couple cans of--was that beef broth?--off the shelf and tosses them into the cart. “Because I just fucked all that up by kissing him.” He strides past Sam to retrieve a couple of grapefruits from the produce aisle, tossing them into the cart without even bothering to bag them.

Sam’s certain Cas isn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to what foods he’s adding to the cart, but he doesn’t want to say anything about it. Instead, Sam busies himself with finding the food on his grocery list. Thank goodness for the grocery list. With everything that’s been discussed between him and Cas, there’s no way Sam could remember what they needed to stock the Bunker with.

It’s easier this way, running off to grab food from the list, because it also helps keep him from having to answer Cas’ last comment. It’s true, Dean has been acting strange around Castiel. And Sam has no idea how to predict his brother’s reaction, especially as whatever comes out of End-Cas might not be the most…gentle. Or recognizable, for that matter.

So they work in silence throughout the store, Sam making sure they have necessities like eggs and bread, while Cas fills the cart with the likes of sugar cereal, vodka, and several pounds of bacon.

When Sam suggests honey, Cas shrugs. “Not really my thing.” And Sam’s heart fractures just the tiniest of bits because it really isn’t all of Castiel standing next to him in the grocery store. The Cas they know and love is still trapped in the Darkness and Sam’s in the check-out line of a store watching as his doppelganger tosses a couple Snickers bars onto the conveyor belt.

“You will have to try to patch things up with Dean,” Sam says finally as they lug the near-overflowing cart out to the Impala, “Or when we get you back for good, he’ll avoid you.”

Cas snatches one of the Snickers bars out of the plastic grocery sack as he helps load them into the back seat of the Impala (the trunk still painfully crammed with weaponry). “I will…” he replies, unwrapping the candy bar and taking a large bite, “ _ If _ …”

_ There’s always an if,  _ Sam thinks grumpily, making his way to the front seat of the car. Cas follows, finishing the candy bar in another bite.

“If,” Cas’ mouth is still full. He chews more and swallows. “You let me get involved with the hunts.”

“But--”

“Look,” Cas gives Sam a steely glare, “I might not be angel, but I’m still  _ useful _ . Especially when it comes to the Darkness. I’m the closest thing you’ve got to an eyewitness there. So...let me help you. And I’ll start with the arduous task of trying to talk to our historically anti-talk friend about how I’ve got the hots for him.”

Blunt and sarcastic. Sam’s starting to get used to it. He sighs, “Deal.”

Cas grins. “Good. Now, let’s rush home. I know for a fact there are three containers of ice cream that’ll melt if you don’t foot the gas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking advantage of my unemployment by hopefully upping my writing. Trying something new with smaller, more frequent updates. Thanks for all the comments and support!


	11. I Don't Care (Do I?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm really struggling to keep writing this, so I'm hoping shorter chapter length helps. We'll see.

Even though they’re gone for a couple of hours, it’s not really enough time for Dean to clear his head. He cleans the kitchen, lifts weights, even takes his favorite gun down to the shooting range and blows through a couple rounds, but it’s not enough to make the memory disappear. 

_ When he’d imagined kissing Cas, it had never gone down anything like that _ .

Dean starts at the thought. True, he’s had the occasional daydreams of sweeping Castiel into his arms and kissing him. But in those, Cas didn’t smell like weed. And he sure as hell didn’t run out of the room afterwards. Not that it matters, Dean’s certain he’s messed everything up with how he handled the whole ordeal.

He jumps at the sound of a door opening. It’s funny, even in the safety of the Bunker Dean still prepares for a fight. Thankfully, it’s just his brother and Cas, arms laden with bags of groceries. Dean rushes to help relieve Sam of some of his load. It’s a cowardly move that ensures he won’t have to look Cas in the eyes.

The contents of the bags he’s grabbed look fairly promising, filled with the likes of bacon and frozen pizza. “Nice find, little bro,” Dean comments approvingly as he transfers the items into the fridge.

Sam huffs a laugh, “You gotta thank Cas for that junk.”

Dean brings himself to look up at Cas, whose blue eyes are locked on him curiously. “Thanks,” Dean mutters gruffly. His heart soars as Castiel gives him a wide grin before beginning to unload his own stash of groceries.

They work quietly for a little while. Dean spots a bag of oranges and turns to tease Sam about splurging on healthy foods when he realizes Sam is gone. Most likely slipped out when Dean’s back was turned. The only other person in the kitchen is Cas. He looks guilty when they make eye contact.

_ Shit. _

“Dean,” Cas begins, “We need to talk.”

_ Shit. Shit. Shit. _

“Do we?” Dean returns to emptying the bag, shoving a head of lettuce into the fridge before wadding up the now vacant plastic bag.

“If not for your sake, for  _ his _ sake,” Cas replies bluntly, “We both know you won’t do it for my sake.”

_ Ouch _ . Future Dean really must have been a dick.

“What?” Dean snaps, “What do you need to tell me?”

“I’m…” Cas chews his lip, clearly searching for the right words.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Dean mutters.

Cas’ blue eyes narrow, lip curling into a frown. “I’m  _ not _ sorry,” he snaps, shoving a bag of Doritos into the freezer without thinking, “Aside from the fact you’re a shitty kisser, I’m not sorry for laying one on you.”

Dean freezes with a bag of bread in his hands. “You...what?”

“I’m. Not. Sorry,” Cas enunciates every word slowly, walking towards Dean with his arms crossed. “I have feelings for you and I’m  _ sick and tired _ of those getting pushed under the rug every time you get uncomfortable. I kept things under control before because it was the damn apocalypse but this?” 

Cas’ arms swing out as though he’s showcasing the Bunker. He laughs, harsh and brittle, the kind that breaks Dean’s heart just to hear, then steps closer. “We’re no longer in danger. So. I love your fucking guts, Dean Winchester,” he jabs Dean’s chest with his finger. Hard.

He can’t breathe. This isn’t the sort of interaction he’s used to with Castiel. It’s got a strength and arrogance to it that Dean hasn’t seen since Cas was fresh from Heaven, but it’s combined with emotion. Powerful emotion. 

Dean wants to say he loves Cas too. But it doesn’t feel the same, saying those intimate words to someone who isn’t quite the man he cares about. Besides, this whole thing has caught Dean off guard. So instead of saying he loves Cas, instead of even stammering out some simple  _ you’re family _ , the only thing Dean manages to get out of his mouth is: “I don’t care.”

_ Shit _ .

For a brief moment he can see a flicker of sadness rush across Cas’ eyes. Then it hardens, his blue eyes cold as a blade in the winter. His hands curl into fists and Dean wonders if Cas is going to slap him. But they lower slowly, Cas’ gaze never wavering.

“Fuck you, Winchester,” Cas mutters, his voice low and gravely. He turns on his heel and stomps out of the kitchen, leaving Dean surrounded by a pile of empty plastic bags. Dean waits until Castiel is out of earshot to swear loudly, taking out his disappointment on a bag of Funions.

He spots a bottle of vodka poking out of the final unemptied plastic bag and snatches it up, taking it to his room. No doubt Castiel chose the alcohol (it’s still strange, Cas buying booze), but Dean isn’t in the mood to share. He barely even winces as the liquid burns down his throat, taking another sip before bringing the bottle with him into his bedroom. Right now, he just needs to be alone.

Dean takes another swig, slamming the bottle down on the desk. That’s when he notices the journal.  _ Cas’ _ journal.

It’s a strange thought, knowing that the contents of this journal were utterly unconnected with the being in the other room. Though, ironically, both versions of Castiel were human. Dean knows he should be working on other things. They’ve made zero headway in with the Darkness, and even less with Rowena. Still, the events of the night before, coupled with the confrontation in the kitchen has left Dean desperately wanting anything but to pay attention to the world around him.

Against his better judgement, Dean takes another swig of alcohol and flips open the journal.

 

_ Entry 3: _

_ Everything takes longer as a human. This doesn’t make much sense. After all, humans are mortal and their lifespans extremely limited in heavenly standards. Therefore I would assume that their actions are speedy. I was wrong. _

_ I tried to go to the library today. It is all the way across town from where I work at the Gas-n-Sip, but I had the day off and I decided the best thing I could do is reading. This way, I will be even more prepared to be a hunter when, no, IF, Sam and Dean decide to come for me. _

Dean’s heart hammers in his chest at that last sentence.

_ Unfortunately, walking takes a long time. No doubt Sam and Dean would laugh if I said that aloud, but it’s true. I’m used to flying most places, and driving in the Impala the rest of my travels. The little I’ve walked is in short distances. The library is much further away than those distances, though, but there is really no other way to get there than to walk. _

_ So walk I did. _

_ What I did not account for was how hungry the walking would make me. Right now I get by on two burritos a day. One for breakfast and one for dinner. If I’m lucky, I get some of the food that does not turn out correctly in the gas station. If, for example, the hot dogs burn, I might get one. _

Dean takes another chug of vodka, trying not to think about all the nights out at diners, eating until he was stuffed, while Castiel got excited over a burnt gas station hot dog.

_ I can usually get by. But my usual day does not require so much walking. I was weary by the time I even entered the library, to say nothing of my return. Not to mention the burrito I had consumed seemed to be lasting me even less than it used to. I attribute this to the pace I was walking, not to mention the fact I got lost en route. Still, despite my hunger, I had arrived. _

_ The woman at the front desk informed me I could get a library card, which would mean I could carry books back with me. This would greatly reduce the amount of times I’d have to travel to the library. Unfortunately, I do not have any documentation of living in Rexford, since I am homeless, so I could not receive a free card. She said I could pay to have a library card, but I am saving every penny I earn to be able to afford a place to stay. I fear they will catch me sleeping in the stock room and kick me out. _

_ For the rest of the day, I researched, primarily studying new techniques for fighting vampires. It was fascinating stuff, and I was able to spend all day on a couch. It was so soft. It’s been so long since I’ve been somewhere so warm and soft. It took all of my will-power to keep my eyes open. I had to remind myself that I was at the library to prepare to hunt, not to do something so menial as sleep. _

_ The embarrassing thing happened on the walk home. _

_ I fell. It wasn’t a bad fall, I merely tripped over an uneven sidewalk panel and it sent me crashing to the ground. What scares me is it was difficult to pick myself back up. I am thankful Sam and Dean were not there to see me fall. They likely would have judged me unfit for battle and would have turned me away. Honestly, they would be right. I have never had so much trouble getting back on my feet before. _

_ When (if) they do come, I will be better. No more trips to the library. Not until I’ve built up a greater strength. For now, I will work on preparing my body. My mind will come next. Besides, I do have a preponderance of knowledge already from my countless years being an angel. _

Dean’s stomach is churning by now, a sob burning in his throat and around his eyes. Castiel was  _ homeless _ , he was  _ human _ , hell, he was borderline  _ dying _ and what does he care about? Ensuring he’ll be of use to the Winchesters.

And Dean had just told him he didn’t care.

_ But that’s a different Cas _ , the logical side of Dean’s mind tries to remind him.

It is, and yet...it isn’t. There’s something about Cas that makes any version of him hard to distinguish from one another, whatever essential spark inside him that made him  _ Cas _ . It’s too much to process and Dean’s head hurts even trying to think about it, so he quiets his racing mind with yet another gulp of alcohol. If he keeps this emotional thinking up, he’s going to be useless in hunts. And he can’t afford to be useless. Not when the person they’re trying to save is Cas.

Cas, who also happens to be in the other room.

Dean laughs at the thought. It’s absurd. It’s painful and ridiculous and all he wants is for it to be  _ over _ . For the real Castiel to be back, with them, in the Bunker.

The squeak of a door nearby stops his racing mind. At first, Dean assumes it’s Cas leaving his room, but then Castiel speaks.

“I talked to him, just like you asked,” Cas’ voice is bitter, “He’s more like my fearless leader than I thought.”

“You mean, like future Dean?” 

Dean’s heart thuds as he recognizes his brother’s voice. So. They’d been planning an intervention together. He can’t help kick himself for not seeing that coming after the two of them went on a grocery run together. It’s just like Sam, trying to force a chick flick moment.

“Yeah. Except  _ this _ time, Dean doesn’t have a good excuse for being a dick.”

Dean can hear Sam’s weary sigh. “Was it really that bad?”

“I told him I loved him and you know what he said?”

“I know?”

_ Damn, that would have been a great answer,  _ Dean mentally kicks himself. It was vague enough that it didn’t give anything away; plus, if anyone asked, he could easily say he’d been making a  _ Star Wars _ reference.

“I don’t know, Sam. Do you know?” the sarcasm practically oozed out of Cas’ caustic retort.

“I was guessing ‘I know’ as Dean’s response, though I doubt that was the correct answer,” Sam replies, voice oddly full of worry.

“Oh,” Cas pauses for a while and Dean finds himself hovering over the wall, leaning in to hear their whole conversation. “Dean said he didn’t care.”

“ _ What? _ ” The surprise in Sam’s voice catches Dean off guard. What does he care how Dean responds? “He...he couldn’t have meant that!”

A flurry of emotions rush through Dean. At first it’s indignation, how dare Sam presume to know what he was thinking? But that emotion is quickly overwhelmed by relief. Hope, even. Strangely, Dean finds himself hoping that Sam refutes the entire statement.

“He seemed pretty certain, Sam,” Cas sighs, “Might as well just get used to it being awkward in the Bunker until you get me back. Once I’m healed, I’m sure I’ll leave you both in peace…”

_ Now _ Dean feels even worse. The point of his reply wasn’t to send Cas away! Surely it was obvious! He cranes his neck, straining to hear Sam’s reply, but to Dean’s dismay, there was only silence.

Dean’s growing concerned when the door of his bedroom swings open, causing Dean to jump. He bangs his head against the wall on accident, looking up to see Sam in the doorway.   
And from the looks of it? Sam is  _ furious _ .


	12. Confessions and Convergence

There had been many times in Sam’s life that he wanted to kick Dean’s ass. There were the days he played his music too loud, or the times he took his pranks a little too far. More seriously, when he found out Dean sold his soul, or learning that Dean took on the Mark of Cain without even consulting him. Yes, Dean had made a lot of mistakes, but  _ this? _ This one somehow trumped them all.

It isn’t often that Sam intervenes in Dean’s love life. After all, it was always  _ Dean _ who played the part of the cocky charmer, the guy Sam had always admired in his ability to pick up beautiful women. But this isn’t a woman and it definitely isn’t some sleazy one night stand in their motel room after a hunt.

Sam bursts through Dean’s door with ease, not even remotely surprised that his brother was lingering near the wall bordering the bedrooms. Dean eyes him curiously, unsure of what Sam is going to do. Sam acts without thinking, pushing Dean with slightly more force than intended, sending Dean slamming into the wall. A picture, one of Dean and Sam arm and arm at an outdoor concert, tumbles to the floor.

“What the  _ hell?”  _ Sam barks, “Why would you say that?”

Dean brushes himself off before nervously crouching to pick up the picture. He wipes the dust off it, examining the glass to ensure nothing had broken. Clearly stalling for time. “Because it’s true,” Dean says finally, though his eyes never leave the picture.

“Bullshit.”

Dean stands, placing the frame carefully on the nightstand before turning to face Sam. His eyes are defiant, hands curling and uncurling slowly. “I meant what I said, Sam,” he replies, staring pointedly at the nearby typewriter, “I don’t care how he feels.”

Sam is trembling slightly from anger. It’s a strange thing to see, someone so large and well-built, someone who’s been more in control of his emotions than Dean lately, barely able to contain his rage. Sam inhales slowly, clenching the chair near the desk until the veins in his hands bulged. “Then we’ll send him away.”

The change in Dean is immediate, his brow furrowing deeply, body turning to face Sam at last. “Why the hell would we do that? He’s our best lead to finding the Darkness’ location.” His voice is harsh, defensive.

It’s not enough, apparently, to sway Dean into admitting anything, but at least it’s something. Sam takes another deep breath, sucking in the slightly musty Bunker air to keep from sending the contents of the table crashing to the floor. They’ve had too much destruction lately and besides, he doubts he could possibly beat Dean’s feelings out of him. 

“He’s distracting,” Sam replies, “ _ And _ he’s barely any help to us as a junkie. Better to send him to a motel and get focused on research.” Both statements are lies and Sam sends a prayer to Castiel, wherever the rest of him is, in the hopes that he won’t take those things personally. 

“Have you lost your mind?” Dean takes a step towards Sam, “That might not be all of Cas, but it’s some of him. And Cas is  _ family _ . We don’t just kick them out to the cold.”

“You did before.”

_ That _ strikes a nerve, Dean’s jaw clenching. His fingers remain balled into fists. Sam wonders briefly if Dean sending a human Castiel away ever got resolved. Knowing Dean, probably not, which means the guilt is still heavy. And it shows.

“That was a mistake,” Dean growls, “One I’m not doing again.”

“Why?” Sam’s heart starts to beat a little faster. Despite being angry at Dean, Sam still wants to avoid a fight. “You don’t care about him.”

“That’s--” Dean begins, but he cuts himself off. His eyes are shining, caught between the lie he’s been telling himself and everyone else, and the truth that hangs so obviously in the air. His mouth opens and closes a few times, no words coming out, before his shoulders sag. The look he gives Sam catches Sam off guard, it’s sad and hollow and practically begging to not have to say the words.

Sam yields, tugging Dean into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this now,” he mutters. It’s true, of all the times Sam hoped to confront Dean about his feelings for Cas, the disappearance of the angel and impending fears about the powers of the realm of the Darkness wasn’t exactly ideal.

It’s still strange to Sam, how protective his hugs have become. When he was a child, it was always Dean enveloping him, keeping him safe from the world. Now, it seems, it’s the other way around, Sam’s strong arms anchoring Dean, chests rising and falling almost in unison. Dean clings to him, fingers gripping Sam’s jacket in an attempt to release all the things he’s feeling.

There’s a creak and Sam turns, still holding his brother, to see Castiel in the doorway. Those blue eyes, the ones that have lately been cold, are now tinged with sadness and regret. He looks so small without his trench coat, cotton blue shirt billowing from his half-starved frame.

“I’ll find my own place,” he croaks, “Neither of you have to get involved. It wouldn’t be the first…”

And just like that, Dean is ripping out of Sam’s arms and stumbling towards Cas, tugging the smaller man into a tight, desperate hug. It’s the kind of hug that Sam has only seen on rare occasions, often when death is a factor in the equation. 

The ex-angel returns the embrace with a sort of gentleness Sam would never have deemed possible for someone so abrasive. Cas’ hands catch hold of Dean’s shirt and his head sinks into the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Cas…” Dean’s voice is wobbly and he takes a deep breath before beginning again, “Don’t go. I can’t do this without you.”

Cas’ head snaps up, eyes fading back to the hollow sorrow. “I’m not much help to you without my grace, or my other memories.”

Dean pulls away just enough to look Cas in the eyes. Their bodies are still interlocked, both holding onto each other as though the consequence for letting go meant losing each other. “That’s not what I mean…” Dean sighs, clearly fumbling for the right term, “You...I  _ can’t _ do this without you. I don’t want to.”

Sam rolls his eyes, running a hand through his hair. Dean is turning out to be the most obtuse person he’s ever met; if Cas wasn’t there, Sam would definitely have shaken more sense into Dean.

But it seems to be enough for Cas, who flashes a hopeful smile before burying his head back into the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean follows suit, pressing his nose into Cas’ hair and suddenly Sam feels as though he’s intruding on a very private moment.

They linger for a minute, Sam about to leave (it’s starting to get fairly awkward, after all) when Cas jerks away suddenly. “I can feel them!”

Dean blinks, clearly surprised the hug is ending.  “What? Who?”

“Me,” Cas breathes, staring up at Dean, eyes wide with wonder, “I can feel the rest of myself.”

“You mean…” Sam says, stepping closer, “You know where the entrance to the Darkness is?”

Cas shakes his head, pulling out of Dean’s grasp. Dean looks slightly disappointed by this, but Cas doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes wide with a curious wonder. “Not exactly,” he admits, pacing the room, “It’s more like... a compass. I can feel the general direction.” 

He swings his arm around, almost whacking Sam. Cas doesn’t seem to notice, spinning until stopping abruptly, finger pointing in the direction of the other bedroom. “It’s that way.”

This is simultaneously very useful information and, at the same time, extremely unhelpful. “So...no specific location?” Sam asks tentatively.

Castiel frowns, eyes flashing a very defiant challenge to Sam. “Oh, I’m sorry my newfound powers aren’t as useful as you want them to be.”

To Sam’s surprise, Dean rests a hand on Cas’ shoulder and the ex-angel all but backs down, leaning slightly into the touch and shifting away from Sam. “I just know it’s in that direction. And it’s far.”

Sam’s lost for words. Between the newfound revelation that Cas can sense where the rest of his being resides and this strange new bond between Cas and his brother, it’s a lot to try and process. Sam takes a step towards the door, then another. “So...what do we do?”

“We follow it,” Dean interrupts. His whole demeanor has changed, he’s holding himself in an almost excited position, rocking on the balls of his feet. “We find the entrance to the Darkness.”

Cas’ brow furrows. “I don’t know if it’ll be that easy…”

“Sure it will!” Dean squeezes Cas’ shoulder before heading towards the exit of the room, “And in my car we can speed, we’ll get you back in no time!”

He rushes out the door, not turning his back on Cas until he has to make his way down the hallway. Sam moves to follow, but he’s caught by Cas’s hand gripping his arm. Tightly. He turns to see a worried expression creasing Cas’ worn face. “How long has he been like this?”

“Like what?”

“So…” Cas’ tongue swipes his lips as he searches for the right word, “Impetuous. The Dean I knew would never run headfirst into a fight like this.”

Sam runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly? He’s been like this since we lost you.”

There’s a flicker of hope in Cas’ eyes, the faintest of smiles brushing his lips before being replaced by a deep scowl. “When push comes to shove?” he says, clenching Sam’s arm so tightly it hurts, “I’m not worth that much. I’m definitely not worth his life. Remember that.”

And then Castiel strides out the door, feet padding quietly on the hardwood floor, disappearing almost like a ghost. Sam shivers at the lingering chill Cas’ warning seemed to bring into the room, praying he never has to make that sort of choice.

Sam makes his way down to the armory, ensuring the duffel bag is properly filled with useful enchanting items. Next comes the guns. Sam carefully loads a few, hefting each in his hand in an attempt to ensure familiarity. Not that he needs to, Sam’s been handling guns like these since he was barely old enough to go to middle school. If someone had told that younger version of him that one day he’d be spending his time searching for an angel who had disappeared to another realm, he wouldn’t have believed it.

Hell, he can’t quite believe it now.

Once he’s got his stock settled, Sam has to drag Dean down to collect  _ his _ weapons. Dean, who almost ran out the door with a half-loaded pistol and the demon killing knife. Dean, who’s actions are growing more and more worrisome in the face of ever surmounting odds.

Cas joins them and it’s strange to see him handling the weapons with such ease. Sure, he’s always known how to use an angel blade, but Sam can count on one hand how many times he’s seen Cas use a gun. Now Cas is loading up several, strapping one to a thigh holster and swinging another across his shoulder. 

He refuses to pack them in the trunk, too, clearly convinced a fight might break out while they’re on the road. Sam shudders, imagining what kind of future Cas must have been living in to foster that kind of mentality. 

On the way out to the car, Dean hands Cas a carefully packaged sandwich. Sam feels his heart pinch, remembering all the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Dean had made in anticipation for Cas’ return.

Cas eyes the sandwich curiously. “What the hell is this?”

Sam swears he can see Dean’s face turn pink. “It’s a sandwich...y’know, a snack for the road?”

“I’m used to rationing.”

Dean dances from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable about how this interaction is playing out. “You don’t have to eat it.”

Cas looks from the sandwich to Dean. His eyes narrow and his head tilts, the sort of thing he’d do when he was trying to make sense of what was going on. It makes sense, Sam hates to admit. If the Dean in Cas’ future was as bad as they both said...well, it wasn’t likely Cas was getting made sandwiches.

“Thank you,” Cas says finally, “I’m sure if you crafted it, it will be very good.”

Dean almost seems to turn a darker shade of pink, turning on his heel to enter the Impala. He bangs his head on the way in and Sam can hear muffled swears within. Sam follows soon after and Cas slides into the back, poking at the sandwich in question.

“So, where too?” Dean asks, fingers drumming against the steering wheel.

Cas points towards Sam’s side and Dean nods, revving up the engine and driving out of the garage. They’re just starting to pick up speed when a figure appears in the road.

Dean slams on the brakes and then screech to a halt, coming face to face with the one person they  _ least _ wanted to see. 

“Rowena,” Dean swore, staring up at the woman.

She wore a long purple dress, hair pulled up into a bun. “Playtime’s over, boys,” she all but sang, snapping her fingers. The hum of the engine ceases. Dean desperately twists his key, trying to start the car again, but to no avail.

“What do you want?” Sam shouts, hoping to distract from the fact they have a Castiel in the back of their car that they cannot excuse or explain. Roewna meddling in the Darkness is one problem he doesn’t want to deal with right now.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Rowena shrugs, “I’m looking for my son.”

“To kill him?” Dean growls.

Rowena looks genuinely surprised, raising both hands in surrender, “Kill him? No. If you haven’t noticed, boys, the end times are nigh and Crowley’s powers are...vast enough.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam’s hand slides down his leg, reaching for the knife he’s hidden.

Rowena tosses her head, clearly annoyed. “The bloody apocalypse is coming and I want out!”

“The Darkness,” Cas says. Dean and Sam turn to see him clutching a rifle, clearly ready to shoot if necessary, “My grace isn’t holding it in place…”

Sam turns back to see Rowena, gaping at Castiel. He sighs. “Maybe it’s worth bringing Rowena back.”

“To the Bunker? Are you insane?” Dean’s voice raises slightly.

It’s not a perfect solution. Not even close. But Sam has to admit, she’s tracked them down this far, it’s only a matter of time before she honed in on the Bunker itself. What’s more, as much as Sam hates to admit it, they could use her help. Hell, they could probably use Crowley’s help. Because of all the things to try and barrel headfirst into, the Darkness, a whole realm of seemingly pure evil, seems to be a bad idea.

Sam turns to ask Castiel his opinion and finds the ex-angel pointing his gun out the front of the window, clearly ready to fire if necessary.

“Should I shoot her?”

Dean shakes his head. “Not through the window! You’ll hurt Baby!”

Sam sighs. “Not at all.” 

Both Dean and Cas turn to glare at him. “I thought you said she was an evil bitch,” Cas snaps accusingly.

“She  _ is _ ,” Sam interjects before Dean can have his say, “But she’s also useful. And we don’t know what we’re getting into here.”

“How do you know she won’t make trouble?” Dean growls.

Sam bends over, rummaging through his duffel to withdraw a pair of charmed handcuffs. “These.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this fic is kicking my butt. Thanks for all y'all for sticking with me through all of this! All your love is majorly appreciated.


	13. Relics

“This has got to be the  _ worst _ family reunion of all time,” Crowley grumbles.

The dungeon is oddly cramped. Crowley lazes in the recliner, hands strapped down with demon cuffs. Rowena stands nearby, also cuffed. Sam stays between them, a necessary precaution in case one of them lunges at the other. Dean and Cas watch from opposite sides of the room, Cas guarding the door with a mask of militant stoicism plastered across his face and a rifle, loaded by Dean with demon-trap bullets, in his hands.

“Trust me, dear,” Rowena trills, oddly calm in spite of the overbearing atmosphere. Her hair must have some sort of magical element to it, as the elaborate curled bun doesn’t look the least displaced by the rough treatment the Winchesters had inflicted in getting her into the Bunker. “When I imagined seeing you, it included a lot more violence.” 

She smirks. “Though I can’t say I mind seeing you in cuffs.”

Crowley growls, actually growls, at Rowena. He might have done more if it wasn’t for Castiel loudly cocking the rifle. “Why is she here?” Crowley snaps grumpily, shaking a cuffed finger at Rowena, “I thought we at  _ least _ agreed that my  _ mother _ ,” he spits the word like it’s the filthiest of curses, “Is no good.”

“Unfortunately,” Dean replies, leaning casually against the cold concrete wall, playing with the demon knife, “The realm of the Darkness is a little bit higher up on the no good list.”

The demon hisses, recoiling. “The Darkness isn’t  _ stable? _ ”

Rowena tuts, wiping some of the dirt and dust off of her long purple gown, “Winchester forgot to tell you the most important part,” her voice is light, though the hint of venom is plenty conspicuous, “He wants to save his wee broken angel before we do  _ anything _ to fix the  _ actual _ problem at hand.”

“Selfish to the end,” Crowley looks to Dean, his face full of pride, “Annoying as it is, I approve. You would have made a good full time demon.”

Cas glances at Dean with interest. “You were a part-time demon?”

Dean’s face turns ashen. The things he had done while a demon, the people he’d hurt...most significantly Castiel and Sam...it’s yet another wrong that Dean isn’t sure he will ever be able to right. “I was a monster,” Dean replies lowly, praying Cas doesn’t ask for him to explain further.

“But he’s making amends,” Sam interjects. Of course Sam would, always loyal, always believing in a brother who certainly doesn’t deserve it. 

“I’m sure I forgave you in the my time,” Cas shrugs, “I know I forgave the things you did in 2014. And you did some pretty fucked up things.”

It’s supposed to make Dean feel better, he knows this, but the words do the direct opposite. Does he  _ always _ hurt the people he loves? The thought buries itself in Dean’s mind, running in circles so he can’t forget it.

“Anyway,” Crowley interrupts, “As much as you might like to have a little pow-wow discussing your demonic deeds, we don’t have time. If the Darkness is truly collapsing, we need to get this strange, drugged up version of Castiel back into it.”

“How?” Sam frowns, “We don’t really have a good clue of where it is, and besides, the only way to open the portal is with Castiel’s halo. And we have  _ no _ idea where that is. Unless…” he turns to look at Cas hopefully.

Cas barks a laugh. “You think I’ve got my halo?” His face contorts, a strange combination between laughter and sadness, as he chuckles. “I’ve been fallen for years now. My halo is long gone.”

“But your future doesn’t really exist,” Sam’s brow is furrowed, “So you might…”

“Look,” Cas sighs, “Given everything you’ve told me about, well,  _ me _ , I’d say I parted with that halo a while ago.”

“And put it where?”

“Personally?” Cas shrugs, “I’d have given it to Dean. Unless he’d done some serious, irreparable damage…”

Dean swallows. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not in front of Crowley, certainly not in front of Rowena, not even in front of Sam. Hell, he doesn’t want to have this conversation at all. His track record with Cas was  _ far _ from clean. He’d beaten Cas, he’d mocked Cas, he’d resented Cas, he’d even abandoned Cas. As far as Dean was concerned, there was no way in Hell Castiel would have stashed his halo anywhere  _ near  _ him.

“We’ll...check around the Bunker anyway,” Sam says hesitantly, “Hell, maybe give the Impala a rundown for good measure.”

It’s pointless, Dean wants to say, but he bites his tongue instead. 

“And what are we supposed to do while you’re on this treasure hunt?” Rowena asks coyly.

“You’re going to figure out a way to help Cas track down the entrance,” Sam replies. Thank goodness for his brother, who always seems to have a cool head and a plan up his sleeve. What’s more, this leaves Castiel down with Rowena and Crowley which, although Dean does feel bad about, means he doesn’t have to face Cas and tell him all the awful, bloody reasons why Cas’ halo cannot be near the Bunker.

“We don’t have much time,” Sam adds, “So let’s give this our best effort, okay?”

The first place Dean goes to when he leaves the dungeon is the garage. It’s quiet there, and the cars are all surprisingly supportive when it comes to listening to him talk aloud about his problems. Secretly, Dean’s been talking aloud while he fixes cars for  _ years _ . It’s loud enough working with the tools that nobody else hears him, and sometimes it feels like the cars have minds of their own.

Sam’s split off, thank goodness, and is in the process of checking the library. He knows the area better, anyway, and besides, Sam would kill Dean if he got the books out of order.

Dean opens the front door of the Impala, checking the driver’s seat first. His fingertips glide over the steering wheel, feeling for anything that might be halo-ish. No dice. Next comes the passenger seat, where Dean rummages through the glove box. He makes a resolution to clean and organize it once this madness is all over, Dean’s not even sure how so many papers have come to fit inside it. Still, no halo.

Next comes the box of cassette tapes. To Dean’s dismay, the mix he’d made for Castiel was gone. Not that it should matter, Cas didn’t even know it existed, but...he’d still hoped. One day. He has to keep from flinging the entire box of cassettes out the door. The rest of the car is searched with a growing sense of stress and dread. The halo, it seems, is nowhere to be seen.

He’s not sure how Sam has managed to keep his cool. Dean all but destroys the kitchen in his violent search for Cas’ halo. Did he tuck it into the knife drawer? Maybe behind a bag of near empty chips in the upper cupboard? The back of the freezer? He’s yielding no angelic results, though there are now more than a few shattered dishes on the floor when he leaves.

Where in the Bunker even has meaning for Cas?

_ The bedroom _ . Of course. Dean sprints to the closet of a room, nearly barrelling over Sam in the process. By the time Sam’s followed him inside, Dean has already strewn Cas’ bedding around the room, moving to violently fling open the few drawers. The angel supplies scatter, feathers floating everywhere, blood vials shattering, Cas’ handwritten notes flying. Dean’s not even aware he’s crying until Sam grabs his shoulder.

“Stop, Dean.”

Dean stills under the touch, chest heaving. The room, which was already dirty before he entered, is now a war zone and all Dean can think about is how disappointed Cas will be to see it so disorderly. “What if it’s not here?” Dean’s voice is ragged, desperate, “What if it isn’t here?”

Sam pulls Dean into a tight hug and Dean, coward that he is, buries his head in Sam’s shoulder to keep himself from seeing just how destroyed the room has become. “Dean…” Sam murmurs, that lilting gentle voice he takes on for civilians, “I know what you think of yourself, but...do you think it’s possible Cas  _ did _ give it to you?”

That’s not possible. Dean would have remembered it if Cas had given him his halo. And that’s when it hits him. “The box…” Dean says slowly, remembering the last time they were in Castiel’s room. “The gift wrapped in newspaper…”

“What about it?”

“Sam...I didn’t open it!” Dean grips Sam’s jacket as he pulls himself to his feet, “I didn’t open the gift!”

Sam’s connected the dots as Dean rushes past him, both of them sprinting to Dean’s room. The box still sits on Dean’s desk and Dean all but vaults the bed to get to it. He rips off the newspaper, which isn’t hard given how clumsily the gift is wrapped, to reveal a Ritz crackers box. Fingers trembling, Dean opens the top, tipping the box upside down.

A slim gold band, oddly heavy, falls into his hand. It’s about the size of a crown, odd symbols carved on both sides. Dean gasps and nearly drops it. A piece of paper flutters out of the box as well, gently drifting to the floor as Dean’s hands are full. Sam, whose mouth is wide open in shock, manages to drop down to grab it.

“Should I, uh, read it aloud, or…?” 

Dean, still speechless, merely nods as Sam opens the note.

 

_ Dear Dean, _

_ I know you wanted an angel. And I cannot truly express how sorry I am for the harm I have caused you and your brother, especially now that I can no longer even serve you in a Heavenly capacity. _

_ Still, it is my wish that this gift might serve to make up for at least one of my mistakes. This, if you have not already guessed, is my halo. Whoever holds an angel’s halo is, symbolically, their charge. For millennia, this halo hung in the halls of Heaven. Only recently has it resided in my own grasp, a sign of the free will you have taught me. Now, though, I wish it to belong to you. Sam too. _

_ I know of no one better to retain my halo. _

_ With love and devotion, _

_ Castiel _

 

The halo seems all the more heavy as soon as Dean realizes its significance. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean whispers, throat dry as his thumbs absentmindedly rub the carvings on the metal. He wonders what they mean and can’t help but imagine this halo being given to him in an entirely different setting.

Not one where Cas was desperately trying to buy the forgiveness of the Winchesters, one where he was happy with them. Where he knew they loved him unconditionally. In this imagined setting, Cas already lived in the Bunker. They were celebrating Christmas, each one trying to out gift the other until, finally, Dean was left to open Cas’ gift. Cas would be shy about it, watching Dean’s reaction nervously as Dean first inspected the halo, then read the note. 

Of course, in this fake world, Dean would be allowed to let his eyes prick with tears when he realized the significance and Castiel would be able to carefully pluck the halo from Dean’s fingers, setting it onto Dean’s head with gentle fingers before leaning in for a kiss.

Later that night, when the festivities were over and Sam had excused himself to read the new book Cas had gotten him, Cas would end up under a blanket with Dean, hand against Dean’s as he explained the different Enochian symbols carved onto the halo. 

“One day, Cas,” Dean mutters to the halo, “We’re gonna do this right.”

He stares at the halo for another moment, not wanting to meet Sam’s eyes before he’d composed himself. Finally, taking one long, shuddering breath, Dean sets down the Ritz crackers box, clapping Sam on the shoulder as he makes his way out of the bedroom. He holds the halo close to his chest, it’s an object Dean isn’t sure he’s going to be able to part with easily.

Then again, if everything works out, he might be able to trade this remnant of Castiel for the real deal.

“We’ve got the halo. Now let’s get Cas back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry it's been so long. I'll be honest, I was really losing steam with this project. But, after a re-evaluation, I'm pumped and ready to get this thing finished. It won't be as long as I was projecting, but I've made peace with that. Thank you so much for all of you who've stuck with me throughout this ordeal. You guys are the greatest!


	14. Running Towards Danger

This is going to be tricky for so many reasons. First of all, trying to get Rowena and Crowley to get along was like asking oil and water to mix. And that might be bearable, maybe, if Castiel wasn’t purposefully baiting  _ both _ of them in between drags of weed, which, speaking of, Sam isn’t even sure how he got his hands on the drugs in the first place. 

And maybe, just maybe, that could be manageable, if Dean would let go of Castiel’s halo instead of hugging it to his chest like a damn toddler. Sam worried it might cause trouble as he saw just how closely Dean kept the thing to his body as they made their way back to the dungeon to share the good news, but he wasn’t expecting Dean to swing a fist at Crowley when Crowley asked to see it.

The demon’s still where they left him, sitting on a recliner while his handcuffs are chained to the floor. Rowena is pacing nearby; they are slow, elegant steps, pausing to turn only once she reaches the end of the leash on her cuffs. Castiel sits cross-legged, leaning up against a shelf as he takes another drag of weed, swirling his fingers through the smoke he exhales.

“It’s not yours!” Dean snarls, glaring at Crowley as though the demon was planning something devious. To be fair, Crowley is always scheming, but Sam doubts it has anything to do with the once powerful halo of a now fallen angel. Unfortunately, of all the people in the room, Dean has the  _ least _ amount of knowledge in supernatural lore. Put Dean in a fight and he’ll be more than quick on his feet, but Sam’s suffered through enough late night research sessions with his brother to know that research isn’t exactly Dean’s strong suit.

“What are you, a child?” Crowley retorts, a mocking smile curling on his lips. Even with the end of the world on their heels, the demon still takes an awful sort of pleasure in winding Dean up.

“You’ll corrupt it or something with your demon touch.”

“Like you haven’t already,” Crowley scoffs, “You might not be demon, boy, but you’ve got demon in your blood. In your lungs, even in your--”

“Can it, Crowley,” Sam snaps, stepping between his brother and the demon. “Dean, you can have someone else look at it.”

“Like my mother?” Crowley laughs, “That’s a good one.”

Rowena rolls her eyes. “I’m skilled at my craft. And I’m not stupid. I’m not about to curse what might be the only being in the universe able to keep the Darkness contained.”

“I could give it a look.” 

They all turn to face Castiel, who extinguishes his joint on the concrete floor before pushing to his feet and padding to Dean’s side. It’s still disheartening to see just how far Cas has fallen, how his clothes don’t fit quite right and his hair doesn’t sit quite right and he doesn’t even smell quite right. But his eyes hold a very familiar spirit. And Sam knows it as he sees Cas’ blue eyes fix onto Dean; first intense, then oddly gentle.

“What?” Cas breaks the silence with a shit eating grin, “You think I’m gonna tarnish my own halo? With my body full of drugs and sex and booze…”

“I don’t--” Dean pauses, taking a deep breath. To Sam’s surprise, he hands the halo to Castiel, their hands lingering on the gold band for a moment before Dean lets go. “I don’t think you’re corrupted,” he finishes softly.

“I’m honored,” Cas’ voice straddles the line between brusque and pleased, but the corners of Dean’s lips rise into the faintest smile, so Sam assumes it’s more of the latter. He doesn’t understand this odd, unspoken language between them, nor is he particularly interested in trying to. In fact, Sam’s mostly hoping that when the real Cas is back, Dean will have worked through enough of his...issues to actually man up and tell Cas how he feels.

Though Sam knows this fantasy is more than jumping the gun, given they currently have no particularly solid lead on how to find the Darkness. Still, he lets Dean have his moment with Cas as the angel holds the halo with reverence. It’s still mind-blowing to consider that an actual  _ angel of the Lord _ would leave one of his most personal and meaningful possessions in the hands of two humans who barely manage to have their shit together.

“If you’re going to bang, just do it already!” Crowley’s voice breaks the reverie and Dean’s scowl quickly returns to line his face. “If not, could you kindly inform the rest of us on the reading of the potentially useful angel crown?”

“It’s not a  _ crown _ ,” Cas huffs, “Crowns are reserved for archangels. Besides, a halo is far more intimate.”

Crowley makes a mocking noise, but Cas ignores him, focusing instead on the carvings in the halo. “I can’t believe I made these,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb along the various symbols, “They weren’t here last time I had my halo.”

“What are they?” Dean interjects gruffly, “What do they mean?”

Cas gives him a wan smile, handing the halo back. “That is a question for another Castiel,” he replies simply. The look Dean gives him in return is one Sam has rarely seen, it’s the briefest flashes of sadness, of vulnerability. It’s odd, seeing his older brother not have his emotions completely in check. Dean’s always been the shoulder for Sam to cry on, so to speak.

“What I’m more concerned about,” Rowena interrupts, “Is if this halo has any helpful connection to finding the entrance of the Darkness, or, more importantly, keeping this dark realm contained.”

“Neither,” Cas replies with a shrug, “Though, really, you can’t pin this all on  me. I’m the one with the semi-useful internal compass. You two, on the other hand, don’t have the powers to do a thing about this.”

“Don’t have powers?” Crowley grumbles, rattling the chains on his leash, “Can’t exactly call a faulty Darkness tracker a power. With your luck we’d be looking for the Darkness until the cows come in!”

“I do not understand that reference,” Castiel retorts dryly, “Though I assume the cows are swift in their return to what is likely to be a familiar pasture?”

Crowley groans loudly. “You’ve fallen! Hasn’t your time as a human taught you  _ anything _ about usual sayings?”

“Actually, it was kind of the apocalypse when I became human,” Cas shrugs, “So I was focusing on the more important aspects of humanity, like using a rifle and wiping my ass after I defecate.”

This conversation is spiraling into nowhere good, Sam decides, so he clears his throat loudly. “It’s gonna be the apocalypse all over again if we don’t figure out how to stop the Darkness. Do you two have  _ any _ leads?”

Rowena steps forwards, all grace despite the heavy cuffs around her wrists. “As far as we can tell, there’s no cheating the system as far as Castiel’s...internal compass. Castiel and Castiel alone will be the one to bring us to the entrance of the Darkness. But...there might be a way to keep the Darkness contained.”

Sam’s eyebrows raise. Dean even looks up from the halo to give Rowena an intense stare. “What is it?” Dean asks, and Sam can tell he’s afraid the answer will be to pull it back into the Mark of Cain. Hell, Sam’s slightly afraid of that too. He almost lost his brother to that power.

“It will take incredible timing,” Rowena admits, “And...an extremely powerful object.”

Sam frowns. “Like what?”

“That’s where it gets tricky,” Rowena sighs, “We don’t really know. The antithesis of the Darkness appears to be humanity. Love is the opposite of the cruel anger the Darkness seems to breed, which, unfortunately, is nothing Crowley  _ or _ I have in our set of reserves.”

“You still haven’t given examples of what  _ would _ work,” Dean’s voice is raising.

“That’s because we  _ don’t know _ .”

There’s silence for a moment, Dean glowering at the rest of them, fingers twitching as though he needed something to fight. Sam’s getting used to this reaction. Dean’s faced the end of the world before, but he hasn’t really faced the end without Castiel by his side. And after all those years of being the thing Sam could depend on, Dean had actually grown to depend on someone else himself.

“If we really want this to be foolproof,” Castiel explains, “It’s got to be some sort of powerful symbol of love in  _ my _ life, since I am the first soul inside the Darkness. The Darkness is forming around me.”

Ah. Sam can see how that would make things tricky. It’s not that Castiel doesn’t know about love. In fact, he’s starting to suspect Cas, the real Cas, had more love in him than most, even if he didn’t know to identify his feelings and motivations as such.

“What about the halo?” he asks, though he can’t help but feel like this has already been discussed throughout the room.

“There’s a risk it won’t work,” Castiel says, “Because it was in my possession for a long time when I was...what did Dean call it? A heartless dick?”

Dean cringes. Sam’s not even sure if Dean’s used those exact words, but given the guilty expression on Dean’s face, if he hasn’t said that, he’s said something close. He looks down at the halo, likely to avoid looking at Cas, but his brow furrows. He brings the halo up closer, staring at one of the symbols intently.

Everyone watches as Dean silently mulls something over, something that’s important given the facial expressions. A shot of fear runs through Sam at the idea that Dean very well might be offering to take the Darkness back inside of him.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice holds warning.

Dean, however, shakes his head. “I know what we can use for the Darkness,” he says quietly, fingers curling tighter around the golden band. He looks up, but his eyes are only for Castiel.

“You can’t,” Sam says again, “Cas would be devastated if you sacrificed yourself--”

“It’s not me, Sammy,” Dean’s eyes are still on Castiel’s. The angel is swaying in place, and Dean’s got the slightest of trembles, “It’s Baby.”

It takes a moment for the room to process what Dean had just said, everyone frozen in place, then--

“You think you can contain the Darkness in  _ your car? _ ” Crowley sputters finally, cuffs clinking as he makes his way out of the recliner at last, “Just because the engine is good doesn’t make it a powerful object!”

“I don’t know…” Rowena hums, as though this is simply another magical mystery that needs resolving, “If the emotional ties are powerful enough…”

“Trust me,” Dean’s voice is firm, his gaze still never straying from Cas’, “They are.”

A strange emotion akin to pride flickers up inside Sam as he watches his older brother with the fallen angel. Castiel’s rubbing his red-rimmed eyes, clearly trying to avoid crying outright. Dean’s gaze is gently, almost hesitant as he takes slow steps in Cas’ direction. Castiel, though, bridges the gap, practically barrelling into Dean to wrap his arms around him. 

“You’d do that for me?” Cas’ voice is muffled by Dean’s shirt, “Dean, that car…”

“Doesn’t matter in the big scheme of things. Not compared to getting you back.”

Cas pulls away, gazing at Dean with astonishment. “You really have changed,” he mumbles, “The Dean I knew, he wouldn’t have...he didn’t…” 

Sam’s certain there’s a story there, likely some violent outburst of Dean’s when it came time to retire his car during the Croatoan apocalypse, but he’s grateful Cas doesn’t share it. He too is shocked at Dean’s decision. That car was practically a member of the family, Sam sometimes worried Dean would risk his own life and limb to keep the vehicle safe. Still, Sam has to make sure Dean is serious to keeping his word.

“I thought you said she was home,” Sam interjects hesitantly, causing all eyes to turn on him. It would have been easier to let Crowley or Rowena play devil’s advocate, but he knew Dean’s forced to take his suggestions with more weight. 

“I thought so too…” Dean admits, “But, I dunno, when it really comes down to it, home isn’t the place, is it? It’s the people. It’s you...and it’s Cas…”

That’s when Sam joins the hug, wrapping his long arms around both of them. He ignores the fact Castiel smells like weed, he ignores the stares of Crowley and Rowena and allows himself to hold onto the people he loves. If only for a moment, they are all together. And they’re at peace.

Of course, peace is a short-lived concept with the Winchesters and now is no different. “So...we gonna find the Darkness or just hug all day?” Crowley drawls.

Grudgingly, the Winchesters both let go of Cas, though Dean keeps the halo close. 

The next hour is spent preparing for a possibly lengthy road trip.

“Great,” Dean mutters as he rummages through the mess in the kitchen to try and scrounge up some food, “We might be prepping for a couple hours  _ or _ a couple days here. No big deal.” He snatches up an opened bag of Lays and shoves it into a duffle bag without even checking to see how full it is.

“Sorry my Darkness navigating skills aren’t up to par with yours,” Castiel shoots back, clearly offended.

“I didn’t--” Dean sighs, “I wasn’t trying to--”

“I get it,” Cas replies, “I’m scared too. Being in the Darkness...it was starting to make the Croats seem like a walk in the park. Which is saying something, y’know?”

Dean nods, making his way to the refrigerator to retrieve a couple jars of jam. He has to bend over to pick the bag of bread up off the floor. “I’m gonna make a few sandwiches, then we can go.”

“I’ll take a ham and cheese, dearie,” Rowena crowed from the table. The Winchesters had taken to moving Crowley and Rowena upstairs, just in case either of them had a breakthrough with ways to either take on the Darkness or enhance Cas’ powers.

“I don’t eat that shit,” Crowley adds. “Steak or nothing at all.”

“Nothing it is,” Sam notes, tossing Dean a butter knife before making his way to the pantry to retrieve the peanut butter.

“What do you want, Cas?”

“Whatever you’re planning on making.”

“I mean,” Dean sighs, “We were wondering this before, what kind of jam do you like?”

“Dean,” Cas smiles wearily, “I think you’re forgetting that I started eating during the damn apocalypse. My diet was mostly booze, game, and whatever we could get out of a can. I’m not exactly picky.”

Dean nods, disappointed, adding raspberry jam to Cas’ sandwich.

The rest of the preparation passes relatively quickly. The weapons, after all, are already packed. Rowena makes some demands of possible ingredients she’ll need and Sam is more than happy to have an excuse to travel to the stockroom alone. It’s not hard to find the crushed lamb skull or virgin blood and Sam even grabs one of the few unbroken vials of Castiel’s blood, along with half a dozen feathers.

Momentum stops, however, when they make their way into the garage. “We’re, uh...we’re going to need two cars, huh?” Dean says, staring at the Impala as the extent of his impending sacrifice sinks in. 

Sam knows it’s his time to step in, grasping Dean’s shoulder and gently guiding him to Castiel’s Lincoln Continental. “I’ll drive this one, it’ll be a surprise for Cas, okay?” He doesn’t want to tell Dean they’ll replace his car, Sam knows just as well as Dean that even if they found another 67 Impala, it wouldn’t have the carvings in the back, or the Legos in the heating vent, or that indescribably familiar smell that sends Sam back to childhood every time he ducks into the front seat on a hot summer’s day.

His reminiscing is broken by Cas. “ _ That’s _ the car I chose to drive in the future?”

“Right?” Dean relaxes, “Isn’t it--”

“Amazing?” Castiel beams, stroking the hood of the Lincoln Continental. “This is the coolest car I’ve ever seen! Aside from yours, of course.”

Dean opens and closes his mouth before smiling. “Whatever you say, man.” He claps Cas on the back, “But...for this trip, you, uh, wanna ride with me?”

“Do you even have to ask?” They share a look, one that is complicated and adoring and one that Sam isn’t even interested in trying to fully decode.

“So...who’s with me?” he asks, gesturing to Crowley and Rowena who stand nearby.

“You take Rowena, we’ll take Crowley,” Dean says, “If you think you can handle her?”

“We’ll bond like two bugs in a rug,” Rowena’s cheerful, giving Sam a wave, “Won’t we, Samuel?”

Sam grimaces. It’s not exactly an ideal situation, but then again, nothing about this is ideal. There is some risk involved in driving with Rowena alone, but he’s banking on the fact that Rowena doesn’t want the world to end just as much as he does. It’s still a shabby alliance, but at least Rowena makes better company than Crowley.

And Sam can’t deny the fact they’ll all fit more comfortably in two cars instead of one.

Sam helps Rowena into the car while Dean pushes Crowley into the backseat of his. “You be safe,” Dean calls out to Sam.

“You too, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

And then Dean’s in the car, Castiel sweeping the perimeter for a moment (out of habit, no doubt) before following suit, sliding into the front seat of the Impala. Sam waits until he hears the familiar sound of the engine starting before sliding into the Continental, revving up the gas before following Dean out of the garage.

The first thing Sam realizes is just how  _ great _ it is to be able to drive on his own. The Continental might not handle as well as the Impala, but the vehicle still does plenty well. What’s more,  _ he can choose his own music _ . If he wants to tune into the Classical music station, which Sam has been tempted to do on more than one occasion, but refrained with Dean in the car, well, now is his chance to shine.

He turns on the radio and allows Mozart’s  _ Concerto 21 _ to play, feeling strangely  _ normal _ for a change. Ignoring the fact they’re on a cross-country roadtrip to try to find the entrance to an unstable dimension, of course.

Rowena shoots him an odd look. “You know,” she says conversationally, “I was there to hear him perform it in person.” 

The false sense of normality is gone as quickly as it appeared.

What’s more, Sam learns early on that this drive won’t be as cut and dry as their regular road trips. He’s used to getting out on the road and just  _ driving _ , often for hours on end. But those sorts of drives require a set destination and, given just how often the Impala in front of them would slow, stop and even pull dangerous U-turns on the highway, their destination is anywhere but set.

After about two hours of driving in circles, they hadn’t even left  _ Kansas _ for crying out loud, Sam tugs his phone out. 

“Texting while driving?” Rowena coos, “I knew you had a death wish, but I had no idea it extended to such mundane activities.”

“Speed dial,” Sam retorts. He only has two numbers in his speed dial, one for Dean and one, added not long ago, for Castiel. He presses the first number, sending a call to his brother. Dean picks up after the second ring.

“We’re trying,” Dean says before Sam can even say hello. “But Cas can’t seem to tell up from down.”

“I don’t see you doing any better!” Cas’ voice rings in from the background.

Sam sighs. “I know we’re dealing with forces we’ve never dealt with before, but there’s got to be a way to speed up the process, right?”

“Got any bright ideas, Einstein?”

Sam bit his lip, glancing over at Rowena. “You, uh, don’t happen to have thought of any way to amplify Castiel’s power, have you?”

Rowena’s eyebrows rose as she drummed perfectly manicured fingernails against the edge of the window, “While I’m flattered, Samuel, that you believe I am brimming with magical ideas and solutions, things like this take  _ time _ .”

“So, that’s a no?”

Rowena clenches her fingers into a fist, which lands on the windowsill with a thud. “Of course it’s a no! An embarrassing one at that!”

Sam rolls his eyes, trying to keep the steering wheel steady with one hand while keeping hold of the phone with the other. “Looks like a no go on our end.”

Dean huffs. “Yeah, I-- _ watch it, Cas! _ ” 

The Impala swerves slightly in front of Sam, who frowns, wondering what was happening. 

“ _ You don’t just grab a man’s steering wheel while he’s driving, Cas!” _

_ “You were drifting into the other lane, Dean, and…”  _ Castiel’s voice trails off and Sam finds himself actually leaning forwards in the driver’s seat, as though it will somehow help in figuring out what is going on in the car ahead.

“ _...holy shit _ ,” it’s still disconcerting to hear Castiel’s gravely voice swear, “ _ Dean… _ ”

“ _ What? Cas, get your hand off my hand!” _ Dean’s voice is tense and now, more than ever, Sam is dying to know what’s happening in the Impala.

“Everything alright?” Sam asks, feigning nonchalance. 

“ _ Dean, the pull. It’s stronger! _ ” 

“ _ You mean…?” _

_ “I...I think it’s in Washington.” _

_ “Holy shit,”  _ Dean’s voice sinks lower and Sam can hear him taking a few deep breaths. Sam can’t help but wonder what’s gotten his brother this worked up. “So, Sam? Uh, turns out we’ve found a possible solution.”

“Which is…?” Sam’s trying to sound casual and he’s pretty sure he’s failing, given the odd stare he’s getting from Rowena.

“We, uh,” Dean sounds embarrassed, “We’re holding hands.”

“ _ Dean and Castiel, sitting in a tree… _ ” Crowley’s voice rings from the back. There’s a shuffling sound, then a thump and a muffled  _ oof _ .

“Sorry about that,” Dean’s voice is thick with embarrassment, “Um...yeah. So...I guess we’re heading to Washington? I’ll call you if anything changes.”

He hangs up before Sam can say a word. Sam stares at his phone for a moment before pumping the air with his fist. Finally,  _ finally _ those idiots might actually be forced to do something about their enormous crushes. 

“I take it they found a way to amplify the spell?” Rowena asks, looking at Sam’s gesture with amusement, “Please tell me Crowley wasn’t the one to figure it out. I will never live it down if my failure of a son beat me to the punch.”

“It was an accident, actually,” Sam smirks, “Though I wouldn’t want to be in the car after the two of them figured out they have to hold hands in order to properly track down the entrance.”

Rowena chuckles. “Do you think this will mean their lusting will slow down, or increase in intensity?”

Sam isn’t expecting this sort of banter from Rowena. But for whatever reason, maybe the impending apocalypse, maybe the fact they’re going to be stuck alone together for the next 20-something hours, he can’t help but laugh along. 

As much as Sam hates to admit it, it isn’t half bad driving with Rowena. She certainly had fascinating stories, the kinds that made his inner geek sing with joy, and she doesn’t might letting Sam pick the music. Plus, it’s pretty fun having someone to gently make fun of Dean with. Cas was always too serious, not even picking up on the jokes half the time, but Rowena, oh, she could mock Dean with ease.

They stop for very little. The occasional pit stop lasts only as long as it takes to refuel the cars and go to the bathroom. Of course, with the world ending, Sam knows they can’t really take time for amenities, but he still can’t help but long for a proper break. One where he could stretch his legs, eat a real meal that isn’t prepackaged.

He gets his wish at a truck stop in Idaho called  _ The Garden of Eden _ , which is complete with fake shrubbery and even an old animatronic snake. Rowena stretches luxuriously as Sam makes his way to the small diner within. Dean and Cas are already in line, still holding hands Sam notes smugly.

“This is very inaccurate,” Castiel is telling Dean earnestly, “The real Garden of Eden looked nothing like this.”

Dean laughs and Sam can see the years practically melting off him. This is the part of his brother that he’d been missing since, well, since Castiel disappeared. The part of Dean that is bright and hopeful and brave. Not that he isn’t all those things without Cas, but, well, there’s something about the angel that brings all the best parts of Dean right to the surface.

“I’m sure they’re not too big on historical accuracy here,” Dean replies, and the way he gently squeezes Cas’ hand isn’t lost on Sam.

“And I don’t care what it looks like,” Sam interjects himself into the conversation, “As long as they’ve got some decent food.”

“Who knows? Maybe they’ll try to incorporate some historical accuracy in their kitchen,” Dean shrugs.

Castiel makes a face. “I hope not,” he mutters, “Eve was a terrible cook.”

And then Dean’s laughing again, so hard that he’s breathless when it’s time to order. It’s pretty standard fare: two burgers and fries for Dean and Cas, two salads for Rowena and milkshakes all around, after Cas looked so dejected to not be able to try one.

“Where’s Crowley?” Rowena asks as they all settle down at a table, Sam pushing a salad and a vanilla milkshake to Rowena before digging into his own salad.

“Didn’t want to come in,” Dean says, mouth full of burger. Sam shoots him a look, but Dean merely shrugs, “Something about me’n’Cas and our profound bond or whatever.” He tries to act casual, but both he and Cas turn a little pink at the statement.

Sam can’t even hide his smirk.

“So...how was it driving with the Wicked Witch of the West?” Dean asks, reaching for a french fry.

“Honestly? Not bad,” Sam admits, digging into his salad. It wasn’t the best thing in the world, just a Caesar salad dripping with excess dressing, but at least it wasn’t a granola bar. He flashes a grin at Dean, “We didn’t even listen to classic rock.”

“ _ Blasphemy _ ,” Dean retorts cheerfully, grabbing another fry. “That’s--” His thought is cut off, however, when he sees Castiel dunking his burger into his milkshake. “Dude, what the hell are you doing?”

Cas crams the ice-cream laden bite into his mouth, looking up at Dean guiltily as he chews. “I saw some kids dipping their fries into their milkshakes once,” he says, “And I thought perhaps the same tasting pleasures extended to burgers.”

Sam’s sure Dean’s got some snarky comment up his sleeve about how stupid of an idea that is. Which is why he’s surprised to see Dean’s face soften slightly. “It any good?”

“It’s  _ fantastic! _ ” Castiel practically moans. Dean makes a soft huff and next thing Sam knows, Dean’s dipping his burger into his shake. Castiel’s eyes widen and he beams at the sight.

“It’s…” Dean pauses to swallow the bite, “Y’know, it’s not that bad.”

“Adorable,” Rowena comments dryly, trying and failing to take a lady-like bite of a large, unwieldy lettuce leaf, “You know, we still have the end of the world to worry about.”

There’s an awkward silence, everyone suddenly becoming very focused on their meals. “Do we have a game plan for this?”

“Me, Dean and Cas will go into the Darkness,” Sam says, “Finding Cas will make it unstable, so as we’re leaving, you and Crowley have to force the realm into the form of the Impala.”

“No,” Dean’s voice is hard.

Sam looks over to see Dean staring intently at his remaining french fries. Castiel was looking from Dean to Sam with worry. “What do you mean by that?” Sam can’t keep the tension out of his voice, “I thought this was our only plan.”

“It is,” Dean admits lowly, “With one amendment: you’re not coming into the Darkness with us.”

“ _ What? _ ” 

This is the sort of conversation Sam wishes he could have had  _ anywhere _ but the middle of a gas station eatery. Especially one that played fake hissing and the occasional thunderstorm sounds along with the tacky music. Dean looks desperate, he grips Castiel’s hand.

“Sam…” Dean sighs, “It’s possible we might not get out of the Darkness in time. And I can’t... “ his voice is heavy with emotion, “I can’t subject you to that fate, Sammy. We’re always bringing each other down and that’s not fair.”

“Then let me go in with Cas instead.”

“No. This whole thing is my fault and you know it. I took the Mark. I couldn’t control it. I hurt everyone I loved…” Dean takes a shuddering breath, “But not this time. Please, Sam…”

Sam looks into his eyes and sees a familiar expression in his older brother’s eyes. It’s the look Dean wore when they were kids and Sam refused to eat the little food they had left. The look he gets on hunts when Sam is injured. It’s the look of an older brother trying to do everything in his power to protect his younger brother. And as much as he wants to say no, to force himself on the excursion into the Darkness, Sam sighs.

“You’re right,” he says, “It’ll make more sense for me to stay with Crowley and Rowena. Keep them in line while you’re gone and all that.”

Dean visibly relaxes. “Thank you,” he whispers. Sam nods, trying to keep himself from choking up. It’s strange how much strength it takes to stand back and let your brother walk into a suicide mission alone.

Except he won’t be alone. He’ll be with Cas. And that is comforting.

They eat the rest of the meal in silence. Night has fallen by the time they’re done and Castiel and Dean have taken to holding hands again. They linger for a moment outside of their cars.

“Drive safely, okay?” Dean says, clapping his free hand to Sam’s shoulder, “If you’re falling asleep you’d  _ better _ blast some Classic Rock.”

Sam smiles faintly. “Sure thing, Dean.”

“Right,” Dean says awkwardly, removing his hand from Sam’s shoulder, “Um...we’ll call if Cas gets anything more specific, okay?” 

Sam nods, and then Dean is heading towards the front door of the Impala. The rest follow suit, Cas giving a faint wave to Sam as he enters the passenger seat of Dean’s car. From the back can faintly be heard Crowley: “What took you guys so long? Were you all constipated?”

Rowena and Sam enter the Lincoln Continental. There’s the slightest of twinges of regret on Sam’s part that he can’t be part of the Impala’s final drive, after all, that was his home too, but immediately following the sadness is a strange feeling of peace. The Impala wasn’t really what was home. Sam’s had possession of the Impala after Dean died and it never felt quite right. No, home was Dean. It was Cas. And as long as they’re together, Sam has a home.

The rest of the drive is oddly peaceful. The Idaho interstate is empty in the middle of the night, leaving Sam to cruise. He wonders if this is how Castiel feels flying. Rowena falls asleep a couple hours into the second half, her head slumped against the window. She looks far less intimidating in sleep. When the radio signal to the classic music station he was playing crackles to a close with them out of range, Sam simply turns the radio off.

He’s fought sleepless drives before, it’s nothing a cup or two of hot black coffee can’t fix. Even if the coffee from the tiny gas stations dotting the barren interstate is even worse than the stuff Castiel tried to fix for them a couple times in the Bunker (apparently standards for the drink were incredibly low in the Croatoan apocalypse). Slowly, the hours begin to bleed into each other.

The sun is starting to rise when he gets a call from Dean. By now they’ve left the foothills of Idaho behind and are cruising along the gorgeous river front that spans the border between Washington and Oregon. The sound is enough to rouse Rowena, who looks around blearily. Sam is briefly surprised that her hair and makeup managed to remain so neat. Then again, it’s not out of the realm of possibilities that she’s got some sort of charm to stay on top of these sorts of beauty tricks.

“Cas has a stronger link now,” Dean once again skips any opening and jumps straight to the issue, “So it might be a little iffy as we try and hone in on it.”

“Noted,” Sam yawns, “You guys doing okay?”

“About as well as expected. You?”

Sam smiles. “Same. Guess I’ll see you at the entrance, huh?”

“Yeah,” Dean pauses, “And...Sam? I, uh...you know I…”

“I know,” Sam fills in the gap. Dean has never been one to be good at expressing his feelings, but Sam’s pretty sure this is Dean trying to say  _ I love you _ . “I do too.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

And then the line goes dead. Sure enough, the drive goes back to the way it was that morning, with the Impala starting and stopping almost at random. Eventually they cross the river, driving on the Washington border until…

“You have  _ got _ to be kidding me,” Rowena says, staring out the window at the monument growing ever closer.

  
It’s a full scale replica of Stonehenge, nestled on the hillside near the Washington/Oregon border. And given the fact Dean’s pulling into the completely empty parking lot, it also happens to double as the entrance to The Darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you might have noticed, this fic now has a set number of chapters! That's right, we're reaching the home stretch here! I'm so grateful to all of you, I cherish all the comments, even if I am completely awful at replying. I'd like to say there will be weekly updates, but I'm coming up on a big move soon...so we'll see!


	15. Into Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! I'm so sorry for the prolonged absence. I've moved, been unemployed, everything's been nuts. But I'm soooo grateful for all the support.

He’s imagined a lot of different possibilities for what the entrance of the Darkness is going to look like. Sometimes, it’s in a dark, abandoned alleyway, strangled with smoke. Other times it’s in a cave, far away from civilization. The entrance to the Darkness has been a lot of places: old phone booths, destroyed barns, dusty highways, but Dean has not once, not ever thought the entrance to the Darkness would be at some roadside attraction.

A concrete reproduction of Stonehenge, no less.

Castiel is laughing, a deep, throaty chuckle rumbling from his chest as he sways. He’s still tethered to Dean, their hands clasped. They’ve only barely let go for the extent of the drive, by now Castiel feels almost like a part of him. It’s a wonderful feeling. One Dean’s very hesitant to give up.

It’s early enough in the morning that they are the only ones there. Sam wanders the perimeter, stretching his long legs, which, even in the Continental, have obviously been cramped. Rowena stands near the entrance of the attraction, trying to get comfortable to the best of her abilities given her cuffs. Crowley sprawls on one of the large stone slabs, yawning in the sunlight despite the fact he didn’t need sleep to operate and Dean’s aware once again at just how strangely human the demon has been acting.

But that’s a worry for another day. A worry for if he survives.

“So...what do we need to do to open the Darkness?” Sam’s voice is tense and Dean knows it’s taking everything Sam as to keep it together. He’s struck now with just how incredible his brother is, how far they’ve come. Sam isn’t begging Dean to stay, he isn’t demanding to die by his side, no, he’s holding down the fort on the other side, trusting that Dean will come back in once piece.

“This will mostly be on Castiel,” Rowena says, walking closer to the monument, fingertips tracing across the stones, “We’ll slick the halo in his blood, he’ll hold it up and recite a basic incantation that I believe will do the trick.”

“That you _ believe? _ ” Dean snaps, Castiel squeezing his hand warningly.

“Well, it’s not like it’ll hurt him if he tries,” Rowena snaps, offended, “Besides, it’s not like this is really your angel anyway. Just a projection of part of him.”

“I don’t want any of him hurt,” Dean growls. Castiel beams up at him, which is heartening, at least, even if the situation is still emotionally charged.

“Then you really ought to have him recite the incantation,” Rowena replies, “Because every moment your angel spends in the Darkness is another moment of intense suffering."

Both Dean and Sam, who’s made his way to their side, glance at Castiel, who’s suddenly developed an intense fixation on the ground. The nightmares have slowed since this version of Cas stumbled into his life, but that doesn’t change the fact Dean remembers just how pained, how scared Cas looked in his dreams. And if they count the days, Castiel has been trapped in the Darkness longer than Dean was in Hell.

It’s fitting that Dean gets to be the one to pull Castiel from perdition.

“I’ll do it,” Castiel says before Dean can make a response. He lets go of Dean’s hand, after a final squeeze, rummaging for his angel blade. Dean winces sympathetically as Castiel slices his palm open, blood dripping from a cut that Dean can tell went deeper than it needed to. Splashes of scarlet dot the dusty ground as he reaches for the halo. Dean hands it over without a word, respecting Castiel’s decision.

Castiel wipes the beautiful gold halo until the entirety of its surface is slicked in blood. “I assume this is enough?” he says drily, holding the bloody metal aloft. The air around them has grown tense, almost crackling with unseen energy. Rowena nods, pulling an old scrap of paper from the sleeve of her gown. Dean wonders briefly if she’s enchanted her clothes; this isn’t the first time she’s done something like this.

His attention, however, is pulled right back to Castiel as the ex-angel begins reciting the chant. Unlike Dean, who is always a little unsure and wobbly when reciting incantations, Cas’ deep voice is clear and confident. As he speaks, the halo begins to glow, a strange reddish light filling the stone filled courtyard. Dean looks from Castiel to Sam, whose hand rests on a rifle. Leave it to Sam to be prepared for the worst.

The energy is growing, a low humming reverberating in Dean’s ribcage as the chanting continues. Cas’ chanting increases in volume until it’s a husky shout. With the final word, Castiel raises the halo above his head, almost in a trance, and releases it. To Dean’s astonishment, the halo stays hovering in the air, glowing a deep red. The circle of red grows, forming an arch near one of the stone features. The arch glows red, then opens inward, revealing a stormy black interior.

“This is it!” Rowena shouts over the intense humming, “The entrance won’t be open for long!”

It’s the moment they’d all been waiting for, the thing Dean had spent the last several months going crazy trying to find, but now that it’s here he finds himself hesitating. He turns back to his brother, whose long brown hair is whipping in the increasing wind. “Sam, I…”

But Sam shuts him up, giving his shoulder a brief squeeze. “No goodbyes,” Sam replies fiercely, “You’re going in and you’re getting our Castiel back. End of story.”

Dean has to wonder at his brother’s faith in him. Even after everything Dean had done and said to Sam, even after all the times he’d let him down, Sam’s faith that his brother would save the day never wavered. He feels his throat tightening, so he merely nods, gripping Sam’s wrist in an odd gesture that he hopes Sam knows means  _ I love you _ .

Then he’s facing the Darkness again. Castiel stands near the entrance, blue eyes hard. “Are you coming?” he asks, the question revealing uncertainty hidden behind the fearless facade.

Dean nods, making his way to Castiel’s side. “I’m not leaving you in there,” he says gruffly, taking Castiel’s uninjured hand in his own as he faces the monumental horror that awaits them both. And then, without looking back, he steps into the Darkness.

There’s a moment where the door is still open, Dean can see the early morning sun of Earth filtering in behind him, and then suddenly, with a loud BOOM, the entrance shuts. For a moment, Dean can’t see anything at all.

“Just give it a sec,” Castiel says, giving Dean’s hand a squeeze. “Your eyes will adjust...somewhat.”

Dean blinks, and sure enough he slowly begins to make out his surroundings. It wasn’t much. The ground is bare, and nothing in the distance seems to betray any sign of life, even plant life. From far off, Dean sees hills sloping. A wind blows past and Dean shivers at the surprising coldness of it.

“This is where you’ve lived?”

“It gets worse,” Castiel says grimly as they take a few steps forwards. Castiel walks confidently, but for Dean each step is a tentative gesture. He only moves as quickly as he does because Cas is tugging him along. “Before long, we will likely be separated. The world is cruel and capricious. You will hear voices and, quite possibly, re-live some of your worst moments. It will feel as though you are unravelling. You must ignore all of it.”

Dean feels a chill to his bones. “How will I find you? The real you?”

“The real me?” Castiel huffs a humorless laugh. “You’ll know him when you see him. But I warn you, if he’s anything like how he was when I left this shitty place...his hope is gone.”

There’s a painful twisting in Dean’s heart, the guilt overwhelming knowing that he’s left Cas to such a miserable fate for so long. “And how do we get out?”

“It shouldn’t be so hard…” Castiel muses, “I can feel my connection to my halo, even now...I believe if you tapped into the right memories, you might…”

“So...reminisce about the good ol’ days? That’s all it’s going to take?”

“It won’t be that easy, Dean,” Castiel murmurs softly, “There’s….plenty of darkness in my life.”

“And light,” Dean tries to interject an air of optimism into his voice, but Castiel merely gives him another sad smile.

“You’ll have to go through your own Darkness first,” he replies, “And unfortunately…” Castiel grows hazy, much less concrete, “You’re going to have to do that alone.”

And then he’s gone. It’s clear the rules of this world do not even come close to matching those on Earth. Dean shivers as another gust of wind nearly barrels him over. He doesn’t want to admit it, but there’s an eerie sense of loneliness, even seconds after Castiel’s disappearance. How Castiel managed to survive this long is beyond Dean, though he understands now a reason why Cas’ being might have split up.

At least you’ve got a chance to run into another person that way.

Unfortunately, Dean had  _ no _ idea where he was supposed to go. It’s not like there’s a neon sign pointing to where the real Cas is. Even if there was, he’s got no idea how to navigate this dark, barren wasteland. With a shuddering breath, Dean decides to head towards the distant hills.

Each step seems to take all of his effort. Which is stressful enough without the strange noises growing in the wind. At first it’s all garbled, Dean can’t make out what it is, but soon he realizes it’s a cry for help. Over and over, Cas’ voice hoarse and in pain as he  _ screams _ for someone to help him.

Dean’s heart leaps into his chest and he begins to sprint forwards. The sound is assaulting him in all directions, he’s got no idea where to turn so forwards it is, heart pounding with one thought:  _ need to find Cas, need to find Cas _ . He stumbles over an uneven stretch of land, barely righting himself in time as he runs around feeling not unlike a chicken with its head cut off.

And that’s when he sees him. Not Cas, as Dean was expecting, but… “Sam?”

Sam’s kneeling, his hair shorter than Dean remembers it, but he turns to face Dean. He has dark circles under his eyes, blood smeared across his mouth. “I’m a monster,” Sam says, blood dribbling out of his lips and down his chin, “I’m a monster because of you. You made me into this…you drove me to this…”

He stands, walking towards Dean with an awkward sway in his step. Dean steps back, shaking his head. “I didn’t...Sammy, this isn’t…” he croaks, trying to find the right words but a part of him wonders if Sam is right. After all, the only reason Sam kept going back with Ruby was because Dean had been gone. And then, worse, Dean had blamed him for so much...had driven him too hard…

Sam is close now, Dean his eyes not quite demonic, but close. Flickering. Before Dean can react, Sam is lashing out, fist connecting with Dean’s stomach, sending him flying further than a normal punch should. When Dean looks up, however, Sam is gone.

The trials of Darkness, though, have only just begun.

In some ways, the realm of Darkness reminds Dean of Hell. Most obvious, it’s  _ so dark _ . There’s a strange intent to inflict both bodily and emotional harm. But there’s something terrifyingly  _ clinical  _ about the Darkness that there wasn’t in Hell. First, Hell was full of people. Not life, per se, but definitely people. There’s something weirdly reassuring about knowing you’re not the only one screaming out on the rack. And, when Dean was well on his way to becoming a demon, a newfound camaraderie with similar soon-to-be demons. The few signs of life here, however, are very clearly not real, even if they cause harm like real individuals.

What’s more, Hell felt like its own place. There was a smell (albeit a bad one) and sounds (albeit awful ones) and in its own way, that was grounding. The Darkness, however, didn’t have a smell. Or, for that matter, sounds of its own. Everything seemed to be scooped from some dark recesses of Dean’s mind and laid out in a particular order with one purpose:

Convince Dean that he’s a monster.

It’s working, too. It helps that Dean already thinks of himself as such. How can he not? After all the horrible things he’s done...certain things too painful to speak aloud, now replayed before him in violent detail. Worse, Dean’s not even sure if the gruesome spectacles are exaggerated or not. All he wants to do is collapse, close his eyes, and put his hands over his ears.

Which makes him even more awful, because Dean knows he’s Cas’ only chance to escape.

But the more he goes on, the more Dean is caught up with two powerful emotions. One is guilt. The guilt of seeing all his past crimes laid before him is crushing. Agonizing. The other emotion is fear. He finds himself instinctively rubbing the forearm that once housed the Mark, terrified he’ll look down and see it glowing prominently against his skin. There’s an intense fear boiling inside him that’s  _ convinced _ when he finally finds Castiel, he’ll try to kill him.

_ Calm down,  _ he tells himself,  _ You need to calm down _ .

But how can he? When he’s being assaulted with the screams of his family members. When he’s seeing everyone he loves at their worst. Sam, with his eyes demon black. John, somehow much taller, more menacing, rattling off Dean’s flaws. Mary, nightgown stained with blood. Castiel, leviathan goo oozing from his nose. Charlie, oh  _ Charlie _ , face terribly pale, fatal injuries prominent. How’s he supposed to calm down when this world is giving him undeniable, inescapable proof that  _ he is a monster. _

He doesn’t want to keep walking. He’s not even sure how he’s managed that, like his body has gone on autopilot as his brain takes on a full-scale breakdown. Like his body still knows the mission: save Cas. Then again, it might be prudent to save Cas by ending his own life...by sparing the angel…

Dean’s certain if he’d been forced to endure the terrors of the Darkness alone for another second, he would have tried something drastic. But as he’s climbing up a steep and darkened hillside, he stumbled over something first. Looking down, it appeared to be a trench coat clad ball, Cas wrapped so tightly into himself, head buried in his legs.

“Cas?” 

Castiel looks up and Dean  _ knows _ it’s him. Darkness hallucinations, he’s found, have no way of measuring up to replicating a real person. And Castiel is finally, blessedly, most  _ definitely _ real. Dean can’t help it, he’s tackling Castiel in a hug with a choked sob.

“Get away!” Castiel cries, voice hoarse as he struggles to push Dean away. “You’re not real!””

Bewildered, Dean lets go. Castiel certainly looks more gaunt than when he last saw him, the once adorable bags under his eyes sunken now to scary levels. His cheeks seem hollow, his blue eyes dull. The Darkness, it seems, is slowly killing Castiel. And the thought makes Dean’s heart clench.

“I’m real,” he says softly, extending a hand, “I’m really me.”

Castiel shakes his head, scrambling away from Dean on hands and knees. “I know how this goes,” he whispers, “You say you’re you. You say you want me, you need me, you love--” his voice cracks and Dean’s heart splinters, “me...but then you leave. You always leave. I didn’t realize how much you left until…” he shivers, “And I thought, split up my thoughts. Then I won’t have to deal with all the pain but...it’s all still here,” he taps his temple with a strangled cry.

“I did leave,” Dean whispers, heart heavy with guilt, “I  _ have  _ hurt you. And I can’t...I can’t take that back, can I?”

“I deserved it,” Castiel replies, wrapping his arms once again around his legs and burying his face in his knees. “I deserved all of it. I was a bad angel and I deserved all of it…” he’s rocking back and forth now, as though to sooth himself, “But it hurts, it hurts, the loneliness burns more than I thought and I deserve it but I can’t…” Cas is full on sobbing now, “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep going like this. Because every time you come and then leave a part of my heart  _ breaks _ and…” his voice trails off into wheezing sobs.

Of all the horrors Dean traversed in the Darkness, nothing is as painful as this.

“I’m not leaving this time,” Dean murmurs, “We’re getting out of here. Together.”

“I wish I could believe you,” Castiel cries, “But I  _ can’t _ . Don’t you see how many times you’ve hurt me? How many times you’ve  _ abandoned _ me? If I trust you again, if you leave again I’m afraid I might just break. And if I break…” he gulps, blue eyes wide, “I die. And if I die...the Darkness is released. And I ruin everything. Again.”

Now Dean starts to worry. They’ve got a time constraint on this and while he’s not sure how Darkness time runs compared to Earth time, he does know that the phrase “the sooner the better” has a near perfect application in this scenario. If Cas can’t think of enough happy thoughts to open the portal….all is for naught.

“Cas,” Dean slowly scoots forwards, “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. But you’ve got to believe me, man. It’s me. I’m real.”

“You always say that,” Cas looks away.

“Cas,” Dean begs, pulling himself close enough to touch the angel, “This time it’s true.”

Tentatively, he places his hand on Castiel’s. The angel flinches, Dean’s heart crumbles a little more. “I know you’ve gotten used to it, but things the Darkness show you...they don’t feel quite real, do they?”

“I don’t know anymore,” the resignation is clear in Cas’ voice.

“Just try,” Dean pleads.

Silence. Still, Castiel doesn’t move his hand away. Slowly, Dean allows his hand to creep up Cas’ arm, carefully moving closer until he’s pulling Castiel into his chest. “They don’t have smells in the Darkness, did you notice?” he whispers, praying that this might, at the very least, introduce an inkling of doubt.

“So?”

“What do I smell like?”

For a moment, Castiel is silent, shaking like a leaf in Dean’s arms. Then, voice wavering, “Smoke. And...detergent. And...sulfur. And...drugs?” He looks up at Dean with a mixture of concern and reproach, “Why were you doing drugs and cavorting with demons?”

Dean huffs a laugh. There he is, the Cas he knows and loves. “Kind of a long story, buddy,” he says, “But it involves Crowley, Rowena and ghost of yourself teaming up with me’n’Sammy to bust you out of here.”

Cas makes a face. “Normally you try harder to make your stories believable,” he almost pouts.

Another huffed laugh. Dean ruffles Cas’ hair, the more he realizes this is the real Cas, the more deliriously happy he’s becoming. “Truth is stranger than fiction.”

A gust of wind sweeps through the hill, sending with it a flurry of screams and vague pleas. Dean merely winces; Cas, on the other hand, screws up his face in terror and screams. It’s hard to tell what he’s saying, but it sounds like an apology of some kind. Dean can’t imagine how much these things must affect Cas now, after being in the Darkness for so long. Unsure what to do, he presses Cas close, one hand in his hair, the other around his waist, hoping it might anchor the angel.

Cas screams into Dean’s shirt for another minute, but slowly the noise abates and he clings onto Dean’s jacket like it’s the ledge of a cliff. Dean’s heart pounds. He’s never been in such close contact with Cas before. Not the real Cas. And there’s something distinctly different about the real Cas than the ghost of 2014, this Cas is more gentle, more terrified. He doesn’t smell, likely because he’s been in the realm of the Darkness too long, but Dean imagines he’d smell of rain.

“I’ve got you,” Dean says again, rather unnecessarily. “I won’t let you go.”

“It’s only a matter of time,” Cas croaks, pulling his face from Dean’ chest, “Before you do.” He looks up at Dean sadly, tentatively bringing a shaking hand to caress Dean’s jaw, his thumb gently brushing against his lower lip.

“No,” Dean shakes his head, feeling slightly bad as Cas’ hand falls back to his side. Still, this is important. Cas is the only one who can create an opening and time is running out. “This time is different. I’ve lost you again, I’ve lost you so many times, but now…” he exhales a surprisingly shaky breath, “I  _ can’t _ lose you again.”

For a moment, Cas stills in Dean’s arms. Then suddenly he’s bursting out, scrambling away from Dean with a look of horror on his face. “It’s really you,” he says and Dean is shocked at how much heartbreak wobbles in his voice. That shouldn’t be the reaction.

“Yeah,” Dean reaches out for Cas, but Cas stumbles backwards, almost tripping over the uneven ground. Dean’s brow furrows, trying for the life of him to understand  _ why _ Cas would be so unhappy.

“You’re trapped here,” Cas is shaking, “You’re trapped here because of  _ me _ .” The hysteria’s rising, Cas clutching his head in his hands, “I did everything I could to atone for my sins against you and you’re trapped here  _ because of me! _ ”

Of course. The only thing worse to Cas than gaining and losing Dean would be having Dean here. Because that would mean he’d subjected him to a fate worse than death. Slowly, with the sort of care Dean saw Sam taking when it came to calming hysterical monster victims, he creeps towards Cas, hoping not to startle him. “Except,” Dean tries to keep his voice light, “We’re not trapped. Part of you got out, remember?”

Cas grimaces. “It was painful. And it was only an echo of myself. To get  _ you _ out would be an entirely different matter…”

“Which we’ve taken care of,” Dean says, “I was cavorting with demons, remember? We’ve got your halo--”

“-- _ you found that? _ ” Cas hisses, eyes wide, “Dean, I--I’m sorry, I--”

And Dean’s heart splinters a little more, realizing in excruciating detail just how often Cas was predisposed to apologize. For things he’d caused, for things not his fault, for things not even bad... _ oh Cas _ … “Look,” Dean’s voice is gruff and he winces internally, “Let’s worry about that later. For now, just know we’ve got a link to get you out.”

“I can’t--”

“You _ can _ ,” Dean insists.

“Dean, if I go, there will be nothing to contain the Darkness-”

By now, Dean’s managed to creep close enough to Cas to gently take the angel’s hand in his. Castiel shivers, and for a moment Dean fears he will run away, but miraculously, Cas stays put, merely looking up into Dean’s eyes. “We’ve found a suitable vessel,” Dean replies firmly, holding Cas’ gaze, “And I’m not leaving without you.”

A tiny smile flits across Cas’ lips. “You can’t leave without me if the magic is tied to my halo,” he informs Dean and  _ oh _ , is Dean relieved to see a bit of Cas’ old dry humor bubbling up. But the grin dies as quickly as it appears. “But...I have no way to tap into that power.”

“Your happiest memory,” Dean supplies, “Or memories.”

There’s another rush of screams and Dean instinctively wraps his arms around Cas in an attempt to protect him from the noise. Cas whimpers, but at least he’s not screaming back at them like he was before. “They’re gone,” Cas whispers after the screams abate, “My happy memories...I don’t know where they are.”

A shock of fear rushes through Dean. This is not an unlikely scenario, even if it’s one he hasn’t exactly thought through. The Darkness, after all, split Castiel into all sorts of iterations of himself, there’s no telling what else is possible. But without his memories... _ no _ . Dean feels his grip tighten around the angel as his resolve hardens. They’re getting out of here. They  _ have _ to. The universe owes them this much.

Almost without thinking, Dean reaches out to take Cas’ wrist, guiding his hand to the spot over his heart. “Take some of mine,” he whispers, “I have happy memories.”

“Dean,” Cas mumbles sadly, “Your memories with Sam don’t count.”

“Not  _ my _ memories,” Dean replies firmly, “ _ Our _ memories.”

He closes his eyes, pressing Cas’ cold hand against his warm chest as he tries to focus on some of their memories together. Dean starts with the time they first met, his awe (mixed, admittedly with fear) at the being who’d descended from Heaven to save someone as worthless as him.

He lingers for a moment on the memory of the two of them at the strip club, clapping a friendly arm around a man he’d thought he’d die beside soon. Turns out, years later, Dean’s just as ready to die beside Cas now. 

The memories are coming faster now, some mere flashes of moments, like seeing Cas sitting shot-gun or waking up to find Cas watching over him. Each one, it seems, is more warm and glorious than the next.

And then, without meaning to, memories give way to fantasy. Dean and Cas spending a lazy afternoon on a warm beach, toes sunk deep into the soft golden sand as the cool waves lap up against their ankles. Dean pressing a soft kiss to Cas’ cheek as the angel passes him a cup of their morning coffee, hair still rumpled from sleep. Sharing a bite of pie at a roadside diner. Cas tentatively pressing his chapped lips against Dean in a chaste, but long overdue, kiss.

Dean opens his eyes to find that last one is really happening, Cas pulling away with an almost scared expression before Dean pulls him back in to kiss him properly. Suddenly, it doesn’t matter where they are, the joy that’s been budding in his chest erupting, Dean feeling happier now than he has in months, no,  _ years _ . He’s so focused on Cas that he doesn’t even realize the growing amount of light around them, the strange forms of the replica Stonehenge coming into view.

The only thing that pulls him away from kissing Cas again is the shrill wolf whistle. Dean turns, blinking in the very bright light (since when had morning been  _ so bright? _ ) to see Crowley smirking at them. It takes a moment to take in the surroundings, not to mention wrap his head around the fact he’d just been  _ kissing _ Castiel. His arms are still around Cas and when he looks back to the angel, Dean’s certain his heart will burst with how much joy he feels seeing Cas’ smile.

“Hey, loverboys!” Crowley’s voice pulls Dean more and more into reality, “I know you probably want to get intimate, but if you could possibly do that  _ outside  _ of the Darkness…” 

Sure enough, the Darkness still looms behind them, loud and cold and empty. With a shit-eating grin, Dean sweeps Cas into his arms and carried him bridal style into the Stonehenge ahead. “I thought you had to help with the spell,” Dean shouts, looking to his side to see Sam and Rowena (still, such a strange combination) chanting over a makeshift alter, the halo sitting square in the middle of it.

“Only when things get dicey,” Crowley replies smoothly, right as the Darkness makes a particularly loud booming sound. The smile dropped from Crowley’s face. “Guess that’s my cue,” he said, rushing off to help with the chanting. The halo begins to glow and Dean can see the Darkness shrinking smaller and smaller.

Reassured that the threat would be taken care of, Dean turns his full attention to Cas, softly setting him down before pressing another chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re here,” he breaths, the reality of it sinking in, “You’re actually here…”

“I’m actually here,” Cas affirms, though his voice is also full of the dreamy disbelief, tears pricking the corners of his blue eyes, “With you. A-and Sam. And Crowley. And the witch. The latter two I did not anticipate missing, but I did. I missed everything. Though…” Cas looks up at Dean shyly, “I missed you the most.”

And, almost without thinking, Dean responds, not even bothering to hide the emotion in his voice. “I missed you too, Cas,” he can feel the tears pricking his own eyes and he pulls Cas into a tight hug, breathing in the scent of rainwater and cinnamon, “I missed you so much.”

Cas clings to him and Dean almost doesn’t feel it when Sam’s arms wrap around them too, anchoring him, both of them, to this world. A world that suddenly,  _ finally _ , feels whole again. “It worked,” Sam’s saying, “It’s gone. The Darkness.  _ It worked _ .”

And they’re all crying and rocking and hugging and Dean knows he’ll never hear the end of this from Crowley but he doesn’t even care. Hell, he’ll take all the teasing in the world if it means having Cas this close. Having Cas in his arms for as long as he wants. Cas who he can bring home and feed PB&J to, who he can present a brand new room to, and give presents to and  _ oh,  _ who he can  _ love _ .

They’re finally interrupted by Rowena, who actually breaks up the hug with a snap of her fingers. “This is sweet and all,” she says, “But I’m ravenous. And there’s a cute diner along this river that I think will do the trick.”

And then, even more surprising, Cas is wrapping his arms around Rowena and murmuring all sorts of thank-yous, enough to make her blush and splutter and Crowley laughs loudly, but he’s the next to be hugged. In fact, Cas seems to be determined to have  _ someone _ to be holding, because as soon as Crowley wriggles out he’s moved back onto Sam and Dean can’t help but wonder if it has something to do with how lonely he’d been in the Darkness.

So, after Sam patiently extricated himself from Cas’ grasp, Dean gently takes the angel’s hand. Cas squeezes for a moment, then his whole body relaxes. “I’ve got you,” Dean murmurs into Cas’ ear, which makes him relax even more.

“This was lovely and all,” Crowley says, “But my mother dearest has a point. I, for one, have things to do that do  _ not _ involve being groped by your newly returned angel.”

Slowly, they make their way back to the two cars. When he sees the Impala, Cas’ eyes light up and he practically runs to the vehicle before Dean stops him. It’s the first time he’s seen the Impala like this, and Dean knows, with a sinking heart, that she’s truly gone. “You can’t open the door,” he says, gripping Cas’ arm. “We’re not taking her with us.”

And that’s when the realization hits Cas. Perhaps it’s merely logic, putting two and two together, or maybe it’s recognizing the malignant feel the Darkness seemed to emanate, even now that it’s trapped. Between the grace of Cas’ halo and the heart that resides within the vehicle Dean’s referred to for many years as  _ home _ , it’s more than enough to keep the realm of the Darkness contained.

“I’d give up Baby in a heartbeat if it means having you,” Dean whispers, giving Baby a silent goodbye as he guides Cas to the Lincoln Continental. “Now let’s get you  _ home _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are GREATLY appreciated! Y'all have been the real MVPs here.


	16. End

Cas spends a good portion of the ride home in stunned silence. Part of him is still wondering if what is going on is even  _ real _ . That he’s no longer in the Darkness, that Sam and Dean have saved him, that Dean wants him so much that he’s willing to  _ give up his car _ . That they  _ kissed _ (Cas is having so much trouble dealing with the first couple impossible conundrums that this particular detail slips his notice from time to time)

Of course, there  _ is _ the presence of Rowena and Crowley crammed into the backseat of the Impala to give him pause that this is merely the most advanced illusion the Darkness has produced. Firstly, because he’s never, not once, imagined a scenario where Rowena and Crowley are bickering in the backseat of his car, but it’s even more apparent because  _ Sam is sitting between them _ . His long legs are squished in and Castiel feels slightly bad that Dean insisted he sit shotgun.

(That’s another unbelievable detail, of course. Dean would never, not ever, insist upon such a thing.)

But there are no screams. And Cas has to admit that there are many scents in the car: gunpowder, sulfur, soap, cologne, fast food, even a slight hint of pine. Which means it’s likely real…still, there is so much Cas can’t explain, even when he tries. And nobody seems to be any help. Crowley and Rowena are too busy bickering over logistics of the Darkness (now trapped within the Impala) and both Sam and Dean get misty eyed every time Cas looks at them, like they can’t believe he’s back either.

They make it to the Idaho border before anyone speaks directly to Cas. 

“Here.” Cas looks down to see Dean holding out a stack of wrapped sandwiches. Cas squints at them, puzzled. “I couldn’t figure out your favorite jam flavor, so I just brought raspberry. But there are more in the freezer. Samples of all the jams.”

Cas smiles fondly, staring down at the food with disbelief. Dean isn’t really one to make him anything, much fill a freezer with sandwiches he may or may not eat. He sits the sandwich on his lap, taking care to ensure it doesn’t get squished.

“So…” Dean clears his throat, voice strangely tense, “…which flavor is your favorite?”

Cas glances at him. “You’ll make fun of me.”

“Never.”

And maybe it’s the tone of Dean’s voice, or perhaps it’s the fact Cas still isn’t sure this is real, but he’s truthful when he answers. “I like to mix them all together,” Cas admits quietly, looking down at his hands, “Enjoying flavors was one of the few good parts about being human, even though I couldn’t afford jam after…” 

He cuts himself off, though he’s certain Dean still catches the meaning.  _ After you kicked me out of the Bunker _ . And maybe this is part of the reason Cas is suspicious of the reality of this world. Because Dean always,  _ always,  _ tried to get rid of him. He cast him out, he beat him senseless, he swore to end Castiel if he got too close. And of course, Cas knew with the Mark gone, some of the violence would dissolve but still. Dean sacrificing his  _ car _ ? Making him sandwiches? Driving him all the way to the Bunker?

Cas goes quiet for another six hours.

They drop Rowena off in Boise, which is the closest airport along the drive. This, Castiel knows, is a very dangerous move. Rowena is powerful, especially if she really was behind freeing Cas from the Darkness, and Castiel knows she can’t be fully trusted to keep to herself. But the Winchesters let her go, growling threats at her as she gathers her ingredients into a bag and sets out.

Crowley demands to be let out about fifteen minutes later, saying he’d like to remain on his mother’s tail. Again, Cas expects the Winchesters to decline, but they instead pull over at a nearby gas station, letting Crowley go with the same string of intimidating warnings. Cas can’t hear exactly what they’re saying (he’s opted to remain in the car) but he does see Crowley point in his direction. Cas cringes. Dean, strangely, goes quiet, then smiles in Cas’ direction.

This is definitely the strangest hallucination he’s ever experienced.

Still, Cas doesn’t say anything on the matter. They drive another couple hours, cutting through the mountain range of Utah en route to what Cas can only imagine is the Bunker, and Cas is distinctly aware of both Sam and Dean shooting him glances. At one point, Dean even slides his hand across to place it gently on Cas’. It’s rough and warm and Cas lets it linger, drinking in the look of apprehensive joy dancing in Dean’s eyes. 

Cas quietly acquiesces when Dean drops his hand against the small of Cas’ back as they tuck into a dusty rest stop in Wyoming, dutifully consuming the hamburger Dean orders for him. He doesn’t move when Dean tentatively pecks his cheek as they stop at seedy motel and follows the order to get settled into one of the room. He tucks into the bathroom, painfully unsure what to do or say, and listens through the thin walls as the Winchesters finally begin to speak.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Dean’s voice is fraught with worry. It makes something in Cas’ heart thrum with longing. “He was fine there for a second, when we were leaving the Darkness. But now he won’t even speak to me.”

“I mean, maybe it’s shock?” Sam’s more reasonable, more grounded. Cas has always admired this about him. “The last time he saw you, you tried to kill him.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath. Likely Dean. “That’s why I’m trying so hard to be so gentle.” Cas is shocked at the tone. Dean’s never been this concerned about Castiel before. And certainly he’s never tried to be gentle. “You didn’t see it, Sammy. We kissed. Like, for real.  _ My  _ Cas and I…”

Cas likes the way that sounds, Dean claiming him. He likes being Dean’s Cas. Even if he’s not entirely sure that’s really how things are going. There’s a pause in the conversation and Cas realizes they might grow suspicious if he’s not making noise in the bathroom. He flushes the toilet, hoping to give the illusion that he was actually using the bathroom. As the noise abates, Cas picks up the strains of the conversation again.

“…and that’s exactly the kind of out of the ordinary stuff that’s going to throw him off,” Sam says, “If Cas has really been having hallucinations…”

His hallucinations have never been this self-aware before. Hastily, Cas turns on the sink, even allowing the lukewarm water to run over his hands. He tears open a bar of soap, wondering idly for the umpteenth if this is real. And if it is…what is to come? Rinsing the suds from his fingertips, he turns the squeaky faucet down to a slow trickle. Dean’s voice drifts through the bathroom.

“What are we supposed to do? Leave him on the streets?”

Ah. Here it is. The moment when the fantasy (no matter how strange) begins to implode. It’s always something Cas has done wrong. Perhaps this time it is not being so receptive to Dean’s unexpected affection. Of course. This certainty of the illusion crashing down would be comforting if not for the fact he’d almost,  _ almost _ allowed himself to believe it was reality. Yet somehow, the shock still hits Cas like a tsunami. The bar of soap slips from his fingers and crashes onto the bathroom floor. Cas follows soon after, smashing into a towel rack on the way down.

The voices stop. 

Cas buries his head in his hands, closing his eyes in preparation for one of two things. Either the Winchesters will chew him out, or they will vanish. And he’s never quite decided which one is worse. Sure enough, the bathroom door bangs open moments later and something hard hits his side. A kick, maybe? Cas squeezes his eyes shut tighter, he’s too tired for another violent hallucination.

What he isn’t expecting is for a gentle hand to grip his shoulder. “Cas? Cas, are you alright?” Dean’s voice is ragged and scared. It’s not often Cas has heard him scared. And when he has, it usually revolves around Sam. He wonders idly why Dean is now using his scared voice on  _ him _ , but does not bring his head up. When Dean’s arms wrap clumsily around his shoulders, Cas’ heart rate speeds up. It’s so comforting, so wonderful...which will make it all the more painful when the hallucination turns sour.

“Dean, I don’t know if you’re helping,” Sam’s voice is equally gentle and Cas imagines he’s hovering nervously above the two of them, assessing the situation to decide the best possible course of action. He’s seen Sam do just that with scared victims. Never with him before.

“Cas, please,” Dean’s begging him, “At least tell me what’s wrong.”

There’s a squeak as Sam turns the faucet off and Cas can hear his footsteps leaving the bathroom. For what reason, Cas has no idea. He mulls over his options. This could be a hallucination...but more and more that seems as though it’s not possible...which would mean this is real and Cas is proving to be a bother…

Slowly, Cas tries to still his train of thought as he lifts his head. The first thing he sees is Dean’s green eyes full of worry. Dean’s hand slides across Cas’ shoulders, up his neck and gently caresses his cheek. Cas leans slightly into the touch. “Is this real?” he asks softly, hoping that Dean would provide some miraculous answer to set him at ease.

“I can say it’s real till I’m blue in the face,” Dean whispers, “You don’t believe me. Why?” His thumb rubs up and down Castiel’s cheekbone like a windshield wiper, slow and methodical. Up. Down. Up. Down. The calloused pads catch on the beginnings of a five-o’clock shadow.

“Other hallucinations have asserted the same fact,” Cas replies with a shrug, humming lowly as Dean continued to caress him. Real or not, such an action was preferable to other things Dean had done. Cas had long since learned to treasure the peaceful moments when they came. “Though…” Cas adds softly, “None have been quite so...strange.”

Dean actually chuckles at this, though the stroking does not cease, “Truth is stranger than fiction.”

Cas ponders this thought for a moment. “What else is strange?”

“This, for one thing,” Dean taps his thumb against the edge of Cas’ nose to indicate the occurrence. “We didn’t touch before.”

“We touched plenty in other hallucinations,” Cas retorts in a way that borders on pouting. Dean chuckles, pulling Cas into a tighter hug. “But you never smelled.”

“I smell bad?”

Cas shakes his head. “You smell like deodorant. And burgers.”

“So this has to be real,” Dean asserts.

Cas sighs, listening to Dean’s heartbeat drum against his chest. “It’s just hard to accept. I’ve lived through so many fake versions of reality...I’d given up hope.”

Dean gently kisses the top of Cas’ head and Cas feels his own heart flutter in return. Even when he allowed himself to imagine escaping the Darkness, Cas had never dared assume Dean would be so loving and tender. Gruff, yes, perhaps even a little worried, but mostly annoyed at the fact Castiel had caused him so much trouble. This? It’s more than Cas has ever wished for.

He’s not sure how long he stays silent in Dean’s arms, but after a while, Dean’s helping him stand up, keeping close contact all the while. “I know it’s gonna be hard,” Dean whispers, “And me’n Sam will do everything in our power to help, but you gotta try to believe it too. That you’re really here. That I really…” he blinks, throat closing, “I really love you.”

A tear trickles from the corner of Dean’s eye and Cas realizes just how much his absence has affected Dean. “I love you too,” Cas whispers, the words coming out raspy as tears leak from his own eyes. Of course, this is the moment Sam decides to arrive, but Sam only quietly surveys them, wiping his own eyes too. Dean glances over at his brother, words dying on his tongue as he sees Sam crying and instead silently pulls him into the group hug.

  
And just like that, nestled in Sam and Dean’s arms, Castiel realizes he is really, truly home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! This ended up being shorter than I expected...but that's okay! I still finished! I'm thinking I might add an epilogue, but that will come later. Thank you so much for everyone who read!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N : Okay. This is my first big fic. As in, I'm actively plotting it out and I'm setting a word count goal for myself. Ideally each chapter will be 5,000 words minimum and I'll plan for a weekly chapter release, both of which are really big for me.
> 
> As such, feedback and comments would really be helpful. Up until this point, I've just kinda played around on here with shorter drabbles. The lengthy fics I've read are all SOOOO well written and it's a really daunting thing to try and follow.
> 
> Buckle up. We're in this together.


End file.
